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As will
soon become apparent upon reading the sermon, these words were
written in observance of First Church’s annual observance of
Pentecost. For those reading them from afar, let me
acknowledge my awareness that Pentecost Sunday officially
falls on June 8 of this year. As you probably know, Pentecost
moves across the calendar in direct relation to the date of
Easter. Some years ago, I decided to institutionalize our
Pentecost observance on the first Sunday of June. This means
that it never has to share the spotlight with Mother’s Day,
Memorial Day, Confirmation Day, Graduation Day, or Choir
Sunday. Having made the switch nearly twenty years ago, I have
been surprised at the number of churches that have followed
suit. Pentecost Sunday at First Church features lively music,
colorful apparel (including much wearing of red), and a
“closing” on the church lawn, including a balloon launch
and birthday cake.
Just when I
thought we had spent our last nights, ever, on inflatable air
mattresses, Kris and I signed on for a few days in Costa Rica
with our mission work team. Addicted to comfort as we are, it
won’t be the easiest adjustment to make. But we’ll do it.
Maybe I’ll just unfold both our air mattresses and preach to
them, letting the hot air do the rest.
Still,
the value of inflatables is not debatable, given that not
every act of “blowing something up” is a bad act. If you
don’t believe me, consider the inventive genius of
England’s Michael Gill who, within the last two months, has
given us the world’s first inflatable church. Which, judging
from news reports across the pond, is no joke. You can put 60
people in it. Which means that it could effectively service at
least 20 percent of the churches in our denomination. The New
York Times press release says that not only is it 47 feet
high, but that it includes a blow-up organ, altar, pulpit,
pews, candles and stained glass windows.
No
explanation was offered as to how air gets to it and through
it. One suspects it requires something more than pastoral
huffing and puffing. Neither are we told how mobile it may be.
But in a denomination where, from the days of John Wesley,
Methodist preachers have been called “traveling elders,” I
suppose we could be issued one of Michael Gill’s inflatables
at ordination and, with the aid of a sturdy trailer hitch, lug
our place of employment with us wherever we go.
After
all, Jesus instructed his disciples to travel light. Paul
modeled a ministry that viewed the entire Mediterranean as his
parish. The Book of Hebrews highlighted the early tent
wanderings of our Abrahamic ancestors in the faith. And John
Wesley’s instructions to preachers….which are still read
to ordinands today….included the admonition “to never
spend any more time in any one place than is absolutely
necessary.” Which means that we preachers could be the new
Paladins of the ecclesiastical landscape, freely distributing
business cards that read: “HAVE CHURCH, WILL TRAVEL.”
Which
might not be a bad thing. For, in some ways, buildings can tie
you down. Consider the early days of Methodism in America.
Which were not all that early when measured against the
history of this country. Frankly, we came late. Worse yet, we
came straggling. Other religious groups were here long before
we were. In fact, other religious groups were instrumental in
the shaping of colonial America. Not only were Pilgrims and
Puritans early on the scene, but they soon became
institutionalized as the Congregationalists of Massachusetts
Bay. The Dutch Reformed fashioned New Amsterdam (or, as we
know it today, New York). Add to that, the early-arriving
Quakers in Philadelphia, Baptists (with Roger Williams) in
Rhode Island, and Catholics (with Lord Baltimore) in Maryland.
All
those groups arrived in the 1600s. They came. They cleared
land. They built houses. Then they built churches. Even
seminaries. Both Yale and Harvard trained preachers almost
before they did anything else. Clearly, the first religious
groupings in America were anything but slow in the development
of real estate. They built buildings of all kinds in places of
all kinds.
By
contrast, John and Charles Wesley came but once to
America….in the 1730s….to Georgia…. with General
Oglethorpe. And between them, the Wesleys didn’t stay two
years before sailing back to England. Even when they were
here, they were priests representing the Church of England. If
you want to pack an overnight bag, I can take you to south
Georgia and show you a couple of places where they preached.
But only a couple. And if you read the signs over the doors
carefully, both of those buildings have the word
“Episcopal” in their title.
Well,
that was before the Great Awakening came to John and Charles
Wesley in 1738. Which happened in London. And, truth be told,
they never returned to our shores again. But their followers
did. Converts of John Wesley began arriving in the 1740s, with
greater waves of migration in the 1750s, ’60s and ’70s.
But since those venturing Wesleyans were largely converted,
not in British church sanctuaries but in open-air camp
meetings….by a preacher who boasted that, in addition to
preaching 44,000 sermons in his lifetime, he rode 250,000
miles on horseback during his ministry….our Methodist
ancestors were not “big” on buildings in America, because
they were not “big” on buildings in England. To be sure,
one can trace a few Methodist meeting houses around the
Chesapeake. But precious few. For, truth be told, we didn’t
become a recognizable denomination until 1784. Meaning that,
in terms of American church history, we were a day late and
dollar short. We didn’t have Yale. We didn’t have Harvard.
We didn’t even have sanctuaries or Sunday school rooms
(unless you count people’s houses which doubled as such on
Sundays).
So
what happened? I’ll tell you what happened. Westward
migration happened. People hungry for land began riding across
the Alleghenies and into the Ohio Valley. But most church
groups stayed put in the East. And it was real estate, in
large part, that kept them “put” in the East. After all,
why leave churches you had worked to build, schools you had
sacrificed to establish, not to mention cemeteries your loved
ones had died to fill? The logic was simple. Stay home, where
the steeples are. Stay home, where the classrooms are. Stay
home, where the tombstones are.
But,
religiously speaking, when you are a day late and a dollar
short….when you are the new kid on the block and you have
yet to build a building at the end of the block….and when
the man who led you to Christ rode 250,000 miles on a horse
(and, like him, you are neither uncomfortable nor unfamiliar
with the idea of a horse)…..why not go West? What do you
have to lose? Which explains why our early Methodist ancestors
rode west along with some breakaway Baptists (the words
“breakaway” and “Baptist” being as inseparable then as
they are now). And which also explains why the two largest
Protestant denominations in America subsequently became the
Methodist Church and the Southern Baptist Convention.
We
were the light-traveling, circuit-riding people. Our preachers
carried a clean, white shirt in one saddlebag and a well-worn
Bible in the other. My favorite Methodist circuit rider story
concerns Rev. Peter Cartwright who was known for riding into a
settlement at full gallop while screaming at the top of his
lungs: “I smell hell here.” Would that I would have had
the guts to do it my first Sunday in Birmingham.
Well….times
have changed and so have we. And while it might be quaint to
do the traveling thing….the tent thing….or the inflatable
thing….new occasions really do teach new duties. And one of
the “newer duties” involves construction. Even the
children of Abraham (our Judaic ancestors) progressed from a
time of tenting to a time of tabernacling, culminating in a
time of templing, driven by a belief that God not only told
them what to build, when to build and where to build, but how
to build. I mean, there are whole, big sections of scripture
that read like a construction manual.
So
I am not going to apologize for having cluttered up the
landscape by building four buildings during my ministry.
Today’s preachers don’t ride horses and go to the people,
so much as they build buildings and let the people come to
them. Although buildings can be mixed blessings. Some
buildings are museums, standing as monuments to past ministry.
Others are albatrosses, the costly maintenance of which
inhibits present ministry. But some are wonderful tools which
gather, nurture and equip people for future ministry. So what
is my job? My job is to make sure this place is now….and
continues to be….a tool shop.
One
of the reasons….indeed, the primary reason….we had such an
initial struggle getting site plan approval for our new
addition was the contention of some of our neighbors that, as
buildings go, we are too many in it and do too much with it.
In other words, if we did less with fewer, we might have
received a permit to build bigger, sooner. There are many in
the city who love us because we are pretty. And we should be
pretty. And will be pretty. At least on my watch. But there is
also a sizable segment in this city who appreciate that
“pretty is as pretty does”….and who resonate to the
openness of our doors, the warmth of our welcome, the
intensity of our energy, and the diversity of our ministry.
Besides,
in keeping with our Methodist tradition of “traveling
light,” we continue to use this place more as a base camp
than a bastion, more as a field station than a fortress. As
you have already noted, we will send four mission teams to
various places over the course of the next thirty
days….Prague, with Jim Miller….Costa Rica, with Ann
Gessert….Appalachia, with Jon Skinner….and Memphis, with
Jeff Nelson. And nary a week goes by when somebody doesn’t
go down to Cass or up to Baldwin. It could be more. Probably
should be more. Maybe will be more. But the phrase “have
church, will travel” is not totally inappropriate to our
present mode of ministry.
But
before I close these Pentecost reflections, I want to move
from a discussion of the church’s mobility to a discussion
of the church’s energy. For the inflatable church can’t
rise from the ground….let alone travel hither and
yon….until it is first filled with something. But what?
If
I were Michael Gill, I wouldn’t fill it with helium. I mean,
there’s inflation….and then there’s inflation. Too much
helium and the church will go floating off through the
heavens….serene but separate….looking over it all, but too
much above it all. What earthly good is a heavenly church like
that?
Nor,
if I were Michael Gill, would I count on the hot air of the
preacher to push out the walls and puff up the pews. Not
because preachers aren’t capable of thunderous gusts of
proclamation. And not because truth cannot ride the wind of
their rhetoric. But because preachers, like all things mortal,
are fallible. Worse yet, not all of them come with expansive
diaphragms.
Nor,
were I Michael Gill, would I count on fortuitous winds to
inflate the church. Because the church that depends on a
favorable environment to rise and expand will suffer when
there is no wind….and will suffer, even more, when there is
cruel wind.
Which
means only one thing. The Spirit is going to have to infuse
Michael’s church….inflate Michael’s church….inspire
Michael’s church. But we preachers would rather talk about
what we need to do….what we need to change….which
currently “hot” church we need to visit (the better to
copy everything they do….as a part of our effort to
resurrect this or that church, in this or that place, from
this or that sleep). Much of which is needful. And some of
which is helpful. But, biblically speaking, I’ve got a
handful of dust in Genesis 2….a valley of bleached bones in
Ezekiel 37….and a room full of frightened disciples in John
20….to suggest that the Spirit of God can start with
virtually nothing and work miracles.
So
let me ask you: “How much of what we see and hear in this
place is our doing and how much is the work of the Spirit?”
Darned if I know. “And how much of what newcomers claim they
can feel in the first ten minutes after they enter this
building is our doing and how much is the work of the
Spirit?” Darned if I know. But it ain’t all us. That much
I do know.
Does
the Spirit still come to the church? I am absolutely certain
of it. Does it come like Pentecost in the book of Acts, with
all of its visual, auditory and linguistic pyrotechnics?
Possibly….but not necessarily. In fact, if Acts 2 were to
suddenly become replicated in this sanctuary, it would scare
me half to death. For me, the coming of the Spirit is more
like John describes midway through his 20th chapter. For
that’s when Jesus came to his friends….stood among his
friends….and (get this) breathed upon his friends. Whereupon
he said: “Receive the Holy Spirit.”
Do
I understand that? No….not really. Although yes….maybe a
little. I know that the only way you will ever get breathed on
by Jesus is if you are standing close to Jesus. And the only
church that will ever get itself breathed on by Jesus is the
church that is standing close to Jesus.
So
let’s assume that once or twice….maybe more….you’ve
gotten a little cozy with Jesus in this place. And let’s
assume that when he exhaled, you inhaled. Meaning that you
have him. Or you have the Spirit. Or you have his Spirit.
Lines get a little blurry here, meaning I’m not entirely
certain what you have. But the real question is: “Once
you’ve got it, what do you do with it?” The Spirit, I
mean.
One
thing you do not do. You do not hold your breath. If you hold
your breath too long, you will die. That’s exactly what will
happen to you. You will die. So what’s the alternative?
Well, I suppose you could breathe on each other.
Which
is pretty much how we inflate the church. Jesus breathes on
us. And we breathe on each other. Either that, or we die of
emphysema.
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