As little as fifteen years ago, when I was a new priest, there were books and programs galore on “growing your church.” Parishes were desperately jumping in and trying all the things: if only we had an engaging young priest; if only parishioners tithed, prayed more, and studied the bible; if only we changed our worship or our music; if only we advertised better; if only we ran more like a successful business … then those illusive “families with young children” would flood our building once again, and all would be well. Those of you who were parish leaders in those days might have worn yourselves out trying the strategies being touted. I know that I did. But still, despite our efforts, most of us saw little sustained growth. The tendency then was to beat ourselves up–or start casting blame. We thought that we were the only ones who were failing.
Today, the books and program titles are sounding more ominous. On my desk, I have How to Lead When You Don’t Know Where You’re Going; Canoeing the Mountains: Christian Leadership in Uncharted Territory; and Claiming Resurrection in the Dying Church. These books tell us that there are no “easy fixes,” that new priests and new programs won’t save us. Out-of-the-box creativity and significant change are the only way forward. And yes, we actually have to stand up and follow Jesus into the unknown. It is hard being a Christian these days. And it is even harder being a Christian community.
Come to think of it, though, was it ever easy? Look at the two lectionary readings handed to us today. Jeremiah wasn’t following a crucified Lord, but his role as a prophet of God was just as daunting. Prophets must speak God’s Truth, come what may. They’re often reviled and punished for their words by those who don’t want to hear the truth. And God never lets them off the hook, either—just ask Jonah. Jeremiah’s “call story,” which we heard today, lifts up the courage that it takes to follow God’s call to us. The words that we translate as “God touched his mouth,” are much less tender in Hebrew. “God ‘struck’ or ‘jolted’ his mouth!” says the original text. Having God’s words in his mouth changed who Jeremiah was forever.[1] No wonder Jeremiah protests. “I don’t know how to speak,” he argues. “I’m just a boy.” Good try, Jeremiah. But I can identify. “I’m too old, too shy, too busy, too tired. Later, God, OK? Isn’t there someone else more qualified?” I bet we can all identify. Following God is hard. But God needs us. Only we can bear God’s powerful words and deeds of love that will bring life to the world.
And then there are those Corinthians. Talk about difficult communities! We usually read today’s epistle at weddings, as if the love described here is a warm and fuzzy feeling, as if it is meant to guide marital bliss. But Paul isn’t writing to couples in love. Paul is writing to a church in conflict, to Christians who are acting in unloving ways: boasting, being angry and envious, insisting on their own way. Paul is calling them to account for their behavior.[2] He is asking them to turn from action directed toward power and prestige to action springing forth from love.
Here at St. Ambrose, we are blessed to be a loving community. I am thankful that, unlike the Corinthians, we put a high value on loving action in all of its forms. Paul would cheer to read the “why statement” that we created this past year: Far from boasting, we admit right away that we are “imperfect people in a hurting and broken world.” Far from seeking power, we promote “a joyful community of grace that is open to all.” We try to put Paul’s words about love into action here daily. You should have heard the praise given to Kristy and to our “cookie team” from the fire aid workers who stayed with us last week. Our hospitality and kindness are amazing. And from what I have heard and read, they always have been, back to our foundation as a parish.
The temptation for us today as a church is to get discouraged, to feel that love is not enough to keep us going, to keep us together. We can’t help but wonder: if the Church is dying, if things are as hard and as bleak as Rev. Anne says, then what’s the use? Why not stay in bed or go hiking on Sunday mornings? But oh, just look around at our world. Our world is in pain. Our world needs the love of Jesus Christ more than ever. Our world needs what we at St. Ambrose have to give. We live in an erring world that, like the Corinthians, values wielding power, amassing wealth, and being “right” more than it values compassionate love. We live in a world beaten down by pandemic, and fire, and racism, and war, and the terrifying unfolding of climate change. We live in a world where people feel alone and unworthy. As the hands and feet and heart of Jesus Christ in this stricken world, we are being called. God is hovering today over Barcelona Drive, weeping over the ash piles of hopes and dreams all around. God is weeping over God’s beloved children sleeping in cars and under freeways, over refugees with nowhere to go, over bodies and minds broken by two years of Covid … and God is giving our little parish a fierce collective “touch.” God is saying, “You shall leave what is cozy and familiar. You shall open yourselves to all to whom I send you, and you shall shower them with my love. No excuses! You are not too old, too small, or too lacking in resources. All you need to know is that I will be with you, as you build and as you plant with love. Church growth comes and goes, but my love endures forever.”
My hope for St. Ambrose in 2022 is that we actively prepare ourselves for the distinct call to love that is coming. This call is not a recipe for growth. It’s a call to discipleship, a chance to follow Jesus. And isn’t that why we’re here in the first place? This call isn’t something that any of us can create or control or make happen on our timeline. It may come in a blinding flash, or it may trickle over us like water over stone. But it is something that we can actively and prayerfully look and listen for together, so that we don’t miss it when it comes. As we prepare, I hope that we can follow the advice of consultant Anna Olson. In these difficult times, she writes: “Now is the time [for a parish] to do what is most fun and most important and most life-giving and most loving and most authentic. Rejoice in the people who are with you. Be gentle, knowing that we all take the gut punch of grief from different angles … Make the most of who you are and what you have.” And use your imaginations for good.[3]
How exactly do we do that? For those of us who like concrete action steps, here’s what she suggests:
1.) Make room for what is coming. That is, clean up our literal mess, accumulated over the years. If the church seems full of old stuff, there’s the sense that nothing new is expected or possible. Empty space invites new ideas. Here at St. Ambrose, we began this task already in 2021, but there is plenty more to clean out.
2.) Look at our history and know where we come from, so that we can stay true to ourselves. I have found amazing things about us in our archives and in Charlie Jacobson’s materials.
3.) Go on pilgrimages through our “neighborhood” to see who and what is there, to see what the needs are.
4.) Turn out our pockets to see what little crumbs we have hidden away that we might have forgotten about. Don’t worry about gathering an abundance. Just be sure that we are using all the resources that we have.
5.) Try things out, and when people come to us with needs and ideas, say “yes!” as much as we can. We already have a host of things to try: the excellent list of creative ideas that I gathered this fall from some of you, and now the unexpected needs dropped in our lap by the fire.
6.) Look outside our own tent. See where love is already being poured out in our community and join in. We don’t have to reinvent the wheel or work alone.
7.) Expect trespasses and annoyances. Change is messy. Living together is messy. (Just ask the Corinthians.) Yet remember, Love endures all things.
I’d like to close with the moving words of poet Amanda Gorman, whose new poem Errol shared with me recently:
May this be the day
We come together.
Mourning, we come to mend,
Withered, we come to weather,
Torn, we come to tend,
Battered, we come to better.
Tethered by this year of yearning,
We are learning
That though we weren't ready for this,
We have been readied by it.
…. Be bold, sang Time this year,
Be bold, sang Time,
For when you honor yesterday,
Tomorrow ye will find.
Know what we've fought
Need not be forgotten nor for none.
It defines us, binds us as one,
Come over, join this day just begun
For wherever we come together,
We will forever overcome.[4]
[1]Anathea Portier-Young, “Commentary on Jeremiah 1: 4-10,” January 31, 2010. Found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-after-epiphany-3/commentary-on-jeremiah-14-10-3.
[2] Teri McDowell Ott, “Fourth Sunday after Epiphany—January 30, 2022.” Found at https://pres-outlook.org/2022/01/4th-sunday-after-epiphany-january-30-2022/?utm_source=Presbyterian+Outlook+Email+Updates&utm_campaign=4869583d2e-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2021_10_18_01_23_COPY_01&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_b2a9be72d0-4869583d2e-426016734&mc_cid=4869583d2e&mc_eid=85aeea4447.
[3] Anna B. Olson, Claiming Resurrection in the Dying Church. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2016), 123.
[4] Amanda Gorman, “New Day’s Lyric.” Found at https://www.newsweek.com/read-amanda-gorman-new-years-poem-new-days-lyric-full-1664343.
