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31 March 2004
Alpha Talk 10
“What About the Church?”
Jennifer K. Morrow
Several weeks ago, Javier suggested that when
someone has a “problem” so to speak with the Christian faith, that problem usually finds its
roots not in God, or prayer, or forgiveness, but in Jesus Christ. If, however, the moderate
skeptic manages to accept Jesus, there is still one more major hurdle to overcome in casting
one’s lot with the Christians. But the hurdle is a formidable one, with a steeple on top. The
hurdle of which I speak is the church, but the steeple is not the part most would-be believers
have trouble clearing. I can’t think of anyone, in fact, that I know who has told me they don’t
come to church because of the building. Instead, the reason given is almost invariably the
people.
As a minister I have heard one particular
sentiment expressed over and over again regarding the church. “I believe in God, but I don’t go
to church.” Another way this is often expressed is in saying, “I’m a very spiritual person, but
I’m just not religious.” In these equations, God and spiritual are seen as the positives,
church and religion as the negatives. And, at face value, I can accept them. One does not need
to go to church to believe in God, nor does one need to take part in organized religion in order
to cultivate a spiritual life. Where I do not agree, however, is with the implications such
statements make below the surface. Usually hidden in those words is the notion that one can be
a Christian and not be a part of the church. But such a proposition is an impossibility. I
cannot state it any more bluntly than that. And, even if it were possible to be a Christian
without the church, I can’t figure out why one would want that kind of life anyway.
It is imperative that the church be honest
with itself about who it is, and has been, and could be. Why? To be less than honest limits.
To be less than honest limits love. To pretend that the crusades never happened or that we in
this room can’t be hateful to each other just confirms suspicions outside these walls and
infirms forgiveness within them. And so love is limited then, but also when we fail to see all
that is miraculous about the church. Its existence, for example. Somehow, in some way, the
church has battled it out over everything from the relationship between the three persons of the
Trinity to saying Mass in the vernacular to ordaining women to the morality and legality of
slavery. Blood and tears have been shed, and yet here we are.
Here we are. Do you see what being here
means? Do you see all that being here says? It says the first thing that we need to claim
about the church tonight: the Church is the visible expression of God’s presence in the world.
We are the evidence that God’s economy, God’s politic, God’s way, God’s love works, prevails, is
sure. [1 Peter 2:9-11] The church is chosen, royal, holy, and God’s own. And the church is
the first way we tell others, proclaiming, as Peter writes, the mighty acts of him who called
you out of darkness into his marvelous light. In the church, as its members, we are proclaiming
this by our very presence, even before our infant voices can form the words to say it.
The church is the visible presence of God in
the world, yes, but what more can that mean? What more does that say? Well, a number of weeks
ago, as we were considering the question, “Who is God?” we tried to answer it under the
assumption or belief that God reveals Godself in what God does. It is an active revelation. I
believe this is true. Now, take God out of the equation and plug in the church. The church
reveals itself in what the church does. Now, take it a step further. We reveal ourselves in
what we do. Who are we? What about the church? These are two different versions of the same
question, both answerable in the actions of the church.
And so what are those actions? Throughout
its history, the church has claimed two primary and defining acts as its own: baptism and
Eucharist. So let’s look at each of these actions as a way of understanding who the church is.
It is worth noting, first of all, the similarities between the two actions. Each of them is an
act of both giving and receiving. Each of them has both an individual and communal dimension.
Neither act is possible without others. Neither act has any pre-qualifications that must be
met. The first thing Jesus did as his public ministry began was to go to the river and be
baptized by his cousin. The last thing he did was to celebrate the Last Supper. In between
these two acts lay Jesus’ work here on earth. And so, by claiming these earthly parentheses as
our own the church makes a name and claims an identity for itself that is no less than
continuing the earthly ministry of Jesus Christ.
Baptism is the beginning of one’s life in the
church. It may not be the very beginning. Some of us were baptized before we could talk. Some
of us were baptized after many a Sunday of being told to stop talking during church. Some of us
were baptized after we had begun to tell our own children to stop talking during church. Some
of us have yet to be baptized. Nevertheless, whenever this event takes place chronologically,
spiritually speaking, it is a beginning. What baptism teaches me about the church is that being
a part of it is not akin to some sort of voluntary association. Our entry is marked with vows.
Promises. We promise, or our parents promise on our behalf, the congregation promises, and God
promises. It also teaches me that the church is a reconciling place because baptism is a
sacrament of reconciliation. It is a washing, a making clean, a readying to present. This is a
clue, more than a clue, an imperative concerning what we are to be about. As God’s visible
presence in the world our work is to take part in reconciling the world to God. We know, for
again, as Peter said, “Once we were not a people, but now we are God’s people. Once we had not
received mercy, but now we have received mercy.” In baptism we claim all four of those truths
and in so doing our lives are given a sacred purpose and calling in this family we know as the
church.
The second act, or closing parenthese is the
Eucharist, or Lord’s Supper, or Holy Communion. Unlike baptism, which we only celebrate once in
our lives, the Eucharist is our ongoing definitive act. Every time we gather around the table
we claim what God has done, is doing, and what we believe God is going to do. Like baptism, the
Eucharist is an act of both giving and receiving. We receive the real presence of Christ among
and within us, while we offer ourselves, “in praise and thanksgiving as a holy and living
sacrifice, in union with Christ’s offering for us.” Giving and receiving necessitates
relationship. This particular giving and receiving necessitates relationship with God. We as
the whole church, not just as individuals are in relationship with God. But also like baptism,
the Eucharist cannot be celebrated alone. We are communing on a horizontal plane as well. And
so in the Eucharist we find that we are not only in intimate relationship with God, but that we
have been offered intimate relationship with one another. And the Eucharist speaks to the
character of that relationship. Around the table we experience life as God intended it.
Everyone eats, everyone drinks, everyone eats and drinks the same things, everyone is welcome,
no one is turned away. There is one catch though, and the catch further illuminates God’s
desire for the church. The catch is that no one is turned away, not even the people you would
turn away if you had the chance.
A friend of mine told this story about her
own experience of the Lord’s Supper: “One summer day, when the air-conditioning was broken, I
remember perking up in the packed swelter when it came time for communion. Before the service
would have begun, the bread and trays of grape juice cups would be placed on the altar table.
Forty-five minutes into the service our celebration of the Lord’s Supper began. By this point
the once fresh grape juice was all but stale. It would had soured and begun to taste a bit like
dirt, or like a basement might taste. Now while I had remembered to anticipate the change in
taste that the heat had brung, many of my fellow congregants had not. I sat toward the front,
finished mine off, and slyly turned around to watch all the faces begin to screw up. After the
service was over I was standing around the organ with a few other women when one of them brought
up communion. I could hardly contain my excitement. I couldn’t wait to start laughing it up
about the expressions people made as they drank the musty juice. But before I could share what
I had witnessed, another woman spoke up. “Years ago before we had air-conditioning that could
break, and the juice always tasted bad. It reminded me that sometimes the cup of Christ is a
bitter cup to drink. And it is bitter often because of the people with whom we have to share
the cup.” Since I heard my friend tell this story, I learned something new about the church
from our act of sharing around the table. Like any family, we do not choose who’s in and who’s
out. This means that along with being the visible presence of God in the world, charged with
the work of reconciliation, the church can be an infuriating place to be. It is entirely
un-exclusive. Our life here will be made bitter by those with whom we share the cup, and
likewise, we will make it bitter for them. Practically speaking, this is not good news.
Spiritually speaking, it is the best news of the night. For God wants to show Godself on earth
as the place where love prevails not in perfection and unanimity, but in imperfection and
disagreement. Without such a truth, Jesus’ prayer for the church could never be answered:
[John 17:20-23] And what does this oneness look like? If history can’t provide us an answer,
then poetry can provide us a hope.
I am certain that a grasp of poetry is as
important to faithful biblical interpretation as a grasp of theology is. In the New Testament
there are a number of poetic images used to personify the church. One that suggests this unity
is the picture of a body. It’s incredibly intimate and personal. It sends air into lungs and
send blood into veins of this church. It is singular. It is intentional.
First, the church as the body of Christ. [1
Corinthians 12:12-26] This imagery corrects what is a common misconception regarding the
church. All too often we think of our place here is that of volunteers. But we are not
volunteers, we are members. We are not here to lend a hand; we are here to be a hand, or a
foot, or an eye, or a heart, or a rib. In this way, the church helps us to see ourselves for
who we really are: our gifts and our needs. Both of these things are often difficult for us to
face, just as a picture of who we are is often difficult to face. But the church, along with
being the visible expression of the presence of God, set to the work of reconciliation, with no
exclusivity based on personal tastes is also the place where we are free to see ourselves
truthfully and tell about the truth we have seen. We are each of us, at once, desperately
needed and desperately in need.
This is who you are, whether you in your own
mind measure up to it or not. You are the incarnation of Christ in the world. You are a child
of God, sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever. You are many, but you
are one. You are the body of Christ just as much as anything Javier or I hand you on any given
Sunday is the Body of Christ. This is not what you could be if you tried, or were a better
person, or believed all of it, or believed any of it. This is what you are. You are the
church. Life in the church is not an obligation, but a gift, as freely offered as the gifts of
baptism and Eucharist suggest that it is. How gracious a God who speaks through the church to
command things like “take” and “drink” and “love.”
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