Sermon:
June 12, 2005
11:00 a.m. Morning Service

Scripture:
Romans 12:1-2

Dear Members of the Confirmation Class: 

This is your day. This is your hour. And this is your sermon. Everybody else in the room can listen in. But I wrote it for you. Some of you may be wondering about the word “dance” in my sermon title. Don’t worry. I am not going to make you choose partners and move to any music…. fast or slow. Because that would surprise all of you….and embarrass more than a few of you.  

Besides, I don’t even know if you like dancing. When I was in the sixth grade, I didn’t. Of course, when I was in the sixth grade, rock and roll hadn’t yet appeared. But we had dancing in school. It was a part of our gym class, as I remember it. Some days we played softball. Some days we played dodgeball. Some days we climbed a braided rope from floor to ceiling. And some days we danced. Not that we liked it. But we did it. I remember learning how to square dance in gym class. And I remember learning how to slow dance in gym class.  

When we came to the end of the “slow dance unit,” we had a formal dance in the gym. Guys were supposed to clean up, as I remember it. They even suggested we tuck in our shirt….slick down our hair….wear a tie….that kind of thing. Then we were supposed to demonstrate everything we’d learned about dances like the waltz and the foxtrot. We danced to records…78 rpm records….which went round and round on turntables….and were activated by needles. Like I said, it was a long time ago….shortly after the dinosaurs left.  

And we couldn’t dance every dance with the same partner. We had a dance card. And we had to have it all filled out before we got to the gym. If there were ten dances, I had to have ten different girls’ names on my card. Every time the music stopped, I had to go find the next girl. It wasn’t much fun. As I remember it, I liked dodgeball better. At least when I was in the sixth grade.

So why is the word “dance” in a sermon title about Confirmation? One reason. Because Confirmation, like dancing, is something you do with your feet. To be sure, other parts of your body are involved….especially your head….and, hopefully, your heart. But in a few minutes, we’re going to ask you to get on your feet. Then we’re going to ask you to come up front. And, surprise of surprises, we’re not going to ask your parents to come with you.

Every other time something big has happened in your life….like when you joined the Brownies….or when you won the spelling bee….or when you earned a merit badge or two….somebody from your family came up and stood behind you. More often than not, somebody even stuck a pin on your mother. But your mother isn’t going to follow you today. Neither is your dad. Not that they don’t care. But when you come up to the front, you’re going to come by yourself. They’re going to stand in their pew when we call your name. But they’re not going to move. This time, you’re on your own.  

Years ago, they said they would make sure you were a part of the church. Years ago, they said they would try to introduce you to Jesus Christ. And, for better or worse, they did their job. But this is your time. They can’t go on doing everything for you. You need to stand up for yourself. And you need to step out on your own. You can’t live on your parents’ faith forever.  

Which makes your parents proud. But which also makes your parents nervous. Parents always get nervous when kids begin to do things “on their own.” Because once you’re old enough to cross a few streets….or make a few decisions….your parents aren’t quite sure where you are going to go or what you are going to do. They are especially worried about who you are going to follow. Parents are people who were taught to say things like: “I don’t care what everyone else is doing….you are not everyone else.” My father always took that one step further by saying: “If everybody else got in line and jumped off a cliff, would you jump off the cliff, too?” I never told him I thought his question was ridiculous. But what was equally ridiculous was the fact that, if the cliff wasn’t too high, I might have said “yes.”  

But my father had a point. I was different….and he was trying to help me remember that. But, I also had a need to belong….and he was trying to force me to state my own terms of belonging.  

A friend of mine, also named William, is presently a bishop in Alabama. It is a big and important position. But when he was growing up in South Carolina, he was anything but big and important. And he, too, was concerned about blending in with other kids. But his mother was equally concerned that he not blend too much….especially when he became a teenager…. especially when he began to date….especially when he began to drive the car. And so it was that whenever he walked out the door (front door….back door….porch door….garage door), the last thing she would say to him was: “William, remember who you are.” 

But what did that mean? It’s not like he was going to forget his name. Besides, if his mom was like my mom, his name was stitched in his underwear. And it wasn’t like she was saying: “Don’t forget your keys….don’t forget your manners….don’t forget your billfold.” In fact, it wasn’t even like she was saying: “Don’t forget to put gas in the car or don’t forget to be home by 11:00.” It was more than that. She was saying: “Don’t forget who you are….don’t forget who your family is.” Or (as they say in the South): “Don’t forget who your people are. Don’t forget who you belong to or what you believe in.” I imagine that (on more than one occasion) he wished she’d forget to remind him to remember, so that (for one night) he could go out and forget who he was. Which was probably why she never forgot to remind him to remember. 

Every time you walk out the door, you carry a family name….a family history….a family hope….and a whole laundry list of family values. Whether you understand all that or not…. whether you like all that or not….whether you plan to honor all that or not (once you get out on your own)….that is who you are. It’s in your bones. It’s in your genes. It’s in that computer in your head that you call a memory. And it’s also in your heart. “Who you are” is like underwear you never take off. Even if you get 500 miles from home and never have to walk out your front door again, you will never be able to shake that voice telling you: “Remember who you are.” 

And you know what? Starting today, you have something else to remember. You have to remember that you are a disciple of Jesus Christ. A few minutes from now, Carl and I are going to put our hands on your head….crack through 17 layers of hair spray….call your name out loud and say: “Michael, the Lord defend you with his heavenly grace, and by his Spirit confirm you in the faith and fellowship of all true disciples of Jesus Christ.” Which means that you belong to Jesus. And which is going to make you different from people who don’t belong to Jesus. You are never going to be able to wear the uniform of the world without realizing that underneath it (in addition to your underwear) you also wear your relationship with Jesus Christ. Which means there will be times when you will not fit in with other crowds….when you will look different…. unusual….odd (or weird). Or to recall Paul’s language: 

Do not model your behavior on the contemporary world, but let the renewing of your minds transform you, so that you may discern for yourselves what is the will of God….what is good and acceptable and mature.  

And I suppose you are wondering (along about now): “Just how odd is Confirmation going to make me?” Well, in your grandparents’ day, kids who followed Jesus Christ were expected to be pretty darned different. They didn’t play cards. They didn’t go to movies. They didn’t go dancing. They didn’t wear makeup. And they especially didn’t do those things on Sunday.

Fortunately, those days were pretty much over by the time I came along. I danced. I went to movies. I played cards. And the fact that I chose not to wear makeup had nothing to do with Jesus Christ. To this day, I have a profound respect for groups that practice their faith by limiting  their contacts with things that others call “worldly.” But I am not suggesting that (as soon as you are confirmed) you go home, scrub your face, burn all your CDs and never dance another beat again. 

What I am suggesting is that….at every critical turn in your life….you ask yourself: “Does the fact that I am a follower of Jesus Christ have anything to say to me here?” If you do that, I think a couple of good things are likely to happen. 

First, you will occasionally find yourself doing some “lowly” work. You will remember that, on the night before he died, Jesus washed the disciples’ feet. Which was lowly work. Dirty work. Smelly work. But as he went from friend to friend with basin and towel, he said: “Love does things like this.” Which it does. Love sometimes stoops down in order to do the simplest things for the neediest people.  

If you follow Jesus Christ, you will never again be able to look at somebody else’s need and say: “I don’t care. It’s not my problem. No sweat off my back.” To be a follower of Jesus Christ means looking out for people. It also means looking to find Jesus in the presence of other people.  

Gert Behenna was a rough, big-boned woman who was very much an alcoholic. Sometime after her fiftieth birthday, she met Jesus Christ, gave up the booze, put her life together, and began telling her story. She became a celebrity on the Christian speaking circuit. But since she didn’t like to fly, she drove from place to place. Which meant she spent a lot of time in her car. And which also meant she spent a lot of time in gas station restrooms…..which, she said, were so gross that she felt like wearing galoshes every time she entered one. It got so bad that she complained to the Lord about the terrible inconvenience associated with driving around the country speaking for him.  

Then, one day, it was as if she heard Jesus saying to her: “Gert, whatever you do for the least of my people, you do for me.” And then she said: “Lord, do you mean you use these restrooms, too?” Which was when she realized Jesus Christ might be the next person coming in after her. So she figured she had better stop complaining and do something. She writes: “Now, when I go into a messy restroom, I pick up all the towels and stuff them into the wastebasket. Then I take another paper towel and wipe off the sink, the mirror and the toilet seat. After leaving it as clean as possible, I say: ‘Here it is, Lord. I hope you enjoy it.’” 

Don’t miss the point, kids. The point is not that you ought to go home and clean the bathrooms (although I could probably get your mothers to give good money to leave the matter just as it stands). The point is that followers of Jesus Christ are going to find him….and serve him….in some of the world’s messier places, while looking after some of the world’s messiest people. It’s not always pretty. But once you’re a Christian, you can’t turn your back.  

Second, in addition to doing some lowly work, Jesus Christ is going to ask you to make some hard choices. Six months after I was confirmed….in the winter of my seventh grade year…. something incredibly significant took place in my life. My neighborhood was about to change with the movement of a single black lady and her two children into a house on Northlawn Avenue (four blocks away). Everybody was afraid of the change. And everybody was angry, which is often what happens when people become afraid. This poor lady (and her two little kids) were fine people. But she was the first black person coming into our neighborhood. So for three nights running, people gathered in the street by her house….more or less milling around…. making her life miserable. And on the day before the second night, several of my friends said: “Let’s go over to Northlawn and throw rocks (or tomatoes) at the black lady’s house.” The idea of being with my friends sounded cool. And the idea of being part of the action sounded exciting. But, somehow, I knew that I couldn’t throw rocks at the “black lady’s house.” And, what’s more, I knew that I couldn’t go on thinking of her as “the black lady.” So I didn’t go. 

And I wish I could tell you that I was able to stand up and tell my friends that Jesus Christ was the reason I couldn’t go. But I couldn’t tell my friends that. Not just then. A couple of years later, I could have told my friends that. But, at the time, I just made up some excuse about “my old lady” not letting me out of the house. To my knowledge, it was the only time I ever referred to my mother as “my old lady.” But, in my heart, I knew that the reason I couldn’t go had something to do with my Confirmation….what I had said there….and who I had said “yes” to there. 

So, at every critical turn in your life, I trust you will ask yourself: “Does the fact that I am a follower of Jesus Christ have anything to say to me here?” Because I think it does. And if it doesn’t, I think it should. So when Carl gives you the high sign, dance your way up here. And when you leave the church at the close of the service, remember who you are.

Note: This was one of three separate sermons I preached on the morning of June 12. I had preached all three before. This particular confirmation message was delivered in June of 1998. 

My friend, William, is actually Will Willimon, who serves as a United Methodist bishop in Alabama. I cannot cite the specific location of his mother’s reminder, “Remember who you are.” It appears in several of his books. The same is true of Gert Behenna’s remembrance of cleaning restrooms for Jesus.