Trinity Presbyterian Church of Bethesda
02.24.08; Rev. David Williams
Americans used to make things. I know it seems like a crazy concept, but we did. The Star Wars action figures I played with as a boy were made in Ohio. My Atari computer was hooked up to a Zenith TV...and they were both made right here. The phone that I spent so much time talking my highschool girlfriend on. Made right here. Imagine that...a television. A computer. A telephone. Those days are long, long gone, part of this mythic past that old codgers like myself go on and on about. “In my day, sonny, I used to walk twelve miles uphill in the snow to KMart to buy a real American TV, and I carried it uphill the whole way home.”
Think about the things you use each day, that every single red-blooded American just can’t seem to do without. Shoot, let me tell you about the products that made up my day. What’s the first thing I did when I woke up this morning? I got dressed. What am I wearing? Well...I’m wearing underpants that were hecho en El Salvador. And no, you can’t see the label. You’ll just have to trust me on that one. Under this robe, I’m wearing pants that were made in in India. I’m wearing motorcycle boots that were made in Italy. I’ll admit that I don’t know where my socks were made...but though I’m not a betting man, I’d be willing to lay down money it wasn’t in this hemisphere. This pastor’s collar shirt...where was it made? It was made in Canada....close, but no cigar.
The laptop I used to print out this very sermon might have been designed in Cupertino, California, but it was actually made in China. The motorcycle I rode here on was made in Japan. Americans are used to this, because it’s been that way for half a generation. We don’t make anything. Why would we need to make anything? That’s not our job. What is our job, then? Our job is to be the consumers who consume the products that the producers produce. It’s become our national ethic, the way we define ourselves, a central part of our identity.
Because being a consumer names us and claims us, it also has come to define how we do this thing called church. We have come to think of ourselves, by and large, as consumers of faith products. We “shop for churches.” We want to try before we buy, and we research churches with the same intensity that we use to research upcoming consumer electronics purchases, trying each of them on like new pairs of shoes until we find a church that fits just exactly right. Why shouldn’t we? We’re just doing what we’re supposed to do. You wouldn’t want a church that doesn’t match your specific worship and faith needs, would you? It might make you...grumpy.
Possibly as grumpy as the folks who murmured and complained as they stumbled their way along behind Moses in the wilderness. The passages we heard today from the Book of Exodus describes just how challenging things were for Moses. Yeah, he was deep in the desert, trying to find his way to the promised land. But his biggest headache wasn’t the lack of food, or not enough water, or the peoples who threatened to make war against him. What gave him migraines wasn’t any of those things, but the crowd of grumbling Israelites who followed along behind him. They were used to Egypt, and used to just doing what they were told. They got up when they were told. They worked when they were told. They ate and drank when they were told. But now, they were moving towards the land of the promise. They were in a time of struggle, when what was called for was effort and striving and endurance and a passion for what God was calling them to be. They needed to trust God and to press forward towards that vision. What did they do instead? They complained. They let their doubts consume them. So the frustrated Moses turned to God, who allowed Moses to strike his staff against a rock, which pours forth water.
God produced water! A miracle! And the people, acting like good consumers, happily drank. But the point of this story isn’t God’s miracle. It’s the people’s lack of faith. That’s why Moses names the place massah and meribah. Those words don’t mean miracle and water. They mean, respectively, “testing” and “quarreling.”
We heard more about water in the exchange between the Samaritan woman and Jesus from the Gospel of John this morning. In the passage, Jesus tells the woman about “living water,” which can mean water that is the opposite of dank and stagnant. It’s water that flows, that moves, that burbles and bustles. Jesus isn’t just talking about H20, of course. He’s talking about something that refreshes and renews, that gives life and that fulfills a need that all creatures have. He’s talking about the New Life that he lived and breathed.
If we read all of John, and understand the point that Jesus is trying to make about bringing new life, we should understand that living water isn’t just something we’re asked to consume. If we have even the tiniest flicker of the Spirit Jesus promised within us, we are also expected to produce, to pour forth, to give out. Our lives need to turn away from the inward and self-serving focus of consumption, and instead to turn outward.
But how? How do we shift from being driven by our desire to be served, and turn instead to living as a servant? How do we stop seeking to slake our own thirst, and instead turn to ending the thirst of others?
First and foremost, we have to be aware of how deeply those around us thirst for meaning and hope and purpose. That awareness isn’t something we learn about by reading, or even by listening to me blabber on and on up here. It comes when you get to know other people, get them to open to you, and to share their struggles and their lives with you. It happens one on one, and it happens in little groups here and there, as people who have grown to know one another are able to speak out about what burdens they bear.
Every church has those gatherings, those places where we come together to get the work of the church done, or to prepare ourselves for music or worship, or to study, or to pray. We’ve got a couple of them happening every week, and, in fact, almost every day of the week. A small gathering of friends is the easiest thing in the world to invite someone to, and, simultaneously, the most effective way to get to know someone.
What we have to ask ourselves as we get together and scurry about doing the business of the church is simply this...do those groups, those gatherings, give us a place where we can do more than just do the work of the church or be spiritually sustained ourselves? Do they give us the chance to not just nurture the growth of the Kingdom in us, but to build up others? Look at our Bible studies, at our meetings, at our prayer gatherings. How do they give us what we need to strengthen one another...not just as passive consumers, but as active producers who generate and strengthen the faith of everyone around us?
There are ways to gather that can do this, ways that can take much of what we already do and transform them. Over the next few weeks, you’re going to hear more about how this can happen, both here and on our web site.
It's time for us to be making things again.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Into Existence
Trinity Presbyterian Church of Bethesda
02.17.08; Rev. David Williams
Scripture Lessons: Genesis 12:1-4; Romans 4:1-5; 13-17
Abram must have heard that message with a bit of puzzlement. We’re introduced to Abram at the very end of chapter 11 in the book of Genesis. There, we hear that he’d hung around his Dad’s house through his youth, and deep into his adulthood, ever since his father Terah had packed up some of the family and moved from the bustling Sumerian city-state of Ur into Haran in Canaan, a new country of promise. Once they were there, Abram remained with his father, as he and his wife grew older and older. They couldn’t have kids, because, well, Sarai just couldn’t. So they stayed on with Terah in the family home. It was the place to be.
Terah finally passed on, as the Bible tells us, at the ripe old age of two hundred and five. Now, Abram was the oldest son. According to the customs of the ancient world, everything in the family now belonged to him. All that Terah owned became his, and given how long the old cuss had hung on, he’d waited a looooong time to get his inheritance. You’d think that this would have been the time when Abram would have kicked back, popped open a nice frosty HeBrew, and relaxed his way in comfort through his golden years. But just as he was suddenly freed to do whatever he liked, Abram heard a voice, a calling, a message, that must have sounded impossible in his ears.
Leave all this. Go. There’s something new I want to make of you.
It’s a promise that God repeats over and and over again to Abram. It comes first here, and when Abram hears it, he just takes off and follows it, almost without thinking, like a startled deer. Then the promise comes again in chapter 15, as Abram is deep into his wanderings and deeper into doubt, struggling with the idea that a childless couple could ever found a nation. It comes again in chapters 17 and 18, when God changes Abram’s name to Abraham, and then God blesses Abraham and Sarah with Isaac, their son.
Even though it’s God speaking, both Abraham and Sarah really struggled with the idea that this impossibly bountiful future awaited them. How could it? How could it even be possible? They were old. They were set in their ways. How could there be any real newness coming into their lives? It just didn’t seem possible.
Newness is always a challenge. Pulling up roots and finding a new way of going about your life almost always seems beyond us. Things we don’t yet know, things we haven’t yet seen, these things seem like ghosts to us. Though we try to imagine our future, and sometimes think we have a grasp on it, things almost never turn out the way we anticipate.
If you’ve lived more than five minutes in this world, you know the truth of that. That friend who you thought was always going to be there. That relationship you just knew for sure was the real thing. That degree...or that job...you were sure was going to turn your life around. It seems like there are so many different paths, so many different ways that our lives are going to turn out...and then they don’t. As you watch hopes for change in your life sputter and fail, it’s easy to forget about changing, to forget about growing, to forget about doing anything different. You can settle into a comfortable rut, committing yourself to nothing but what you know, repeating the same patterns over and over again until your every day is like the last. Or, you can give in to cynicism about the possibility of anything different or better than what you now know and do, which is a deeper rut still. Those are the easier paths, the paths that Abram could have taken if he’d just closed his ears.
“What, me move? Nah, I like it here in Haran. I’ve got too much equity in the farm. So why pack up and move? How do I know things’d be better? And kids? Oy, they’re just a pain in the tuchus.” But that’s not how the story went. Abram did have descendants as numerous as the stars. Here we are, and millenia have passed, and we’re still telling his story. Why? Because he and Sarai were willing to commit to a vision that changed them. A vision that not only brought them a new life, but gave new life to an entire people.
It wasn’t that they were perfect. It wasn’t that they had every last detail meticulously planned out. If you read the story of Abram in Genesis 12-24, you’ll find a man who is completely and utterly human. He’s flawed. He doubts. He struggles. He connives. On two separate occasions, he actually pretends that his wife is his sister because he’s not willing to stand up to powerful men who..shall we say...take an interest in her. Wives usually don’t take this kind of thing well once...but twice? This is not exactly the highest and most noble man in the entire universe. He’s just a startlingly ordinary person who trusts what God has shown him.
It’s that trust...that faith...that the Apostle Paul highlights in his letter to the church at Rome. This letter to Rome is perhaps the high point of Paul’s theology, the richest and most detailed Christian expression of what it means to have your life changed by Jesus of Nazareth. In the fourth chapter, Paul uses the promise to Abraham as Exhibit A in the case of God’s grace. The point Paul makes is this: God fulfills God’s promises to Abraham not because Abraham has proven himself worthy through his personal holiness or feats of amazingness. Abraham receives what he receives because he listens and is open to what God is trying to do. He listens, and even when he’s torn by doubts, he has faith. Even when that future seems hard to grasp, he has faith.
Each of us face that kind of challenge in our own lives...and we all face it here together as we gather as a church. We now find ourselves in the second week of the season of Lent, a season of preparation and commitment to the faith. So the question should rightly stand...what are we preparing ourselves for? What is it that we’re looking forward to as a church and as a gathering of Christ’s people?
We know where we’ve been as a church. Just five years ago, this church was looking right over the brink of the abyss. It wasn’t clear where things were going to go, or what future lay before us. We know where we are as a church. Where we are now is a place that I’m not sure folks would have anticipated. This church has one of the most unusual mixes of people I think you’ll find in any Presbyterian church in the area. We have a unique style of worship. I mean that in a truly good way. We have become...for all intents and purposes...a new church, as now more than half of us here weren’t here five years ago. So we, like Abram, have found our way to a new land, to our very own Haran, and settled in for a bit, and it’s been kinda pleasant.
But this isn’t our final destination. What this church has become, what it is now, is only a waypoint on the path to what God has in store for us in our lives together. There’s much more coming. It’s not about growth in numbers, about just making sure we’re filling the pews. It’s not about seeing to it that the plates are full of nice fat envelopes on Sunday.
It’s about finding ways that we together as a church can be better disciples. It’s about realizing that we as a church are free to do things that many other churches couldn’t even attempt. It’s about seeing the possibilities that God has placed before us...and even some of the things that are seemingly impossible...and having enough faith in the God who calls creation itself into existence to press through our doubts and move towards them.
What are those things? Well...I’ll talk about them next week.
02.17.08; Rev. David Williams
Scripture Lessons: Genesis 12:1-4; Romans 4:1-5; 13-17
Abram must have heard that message with a bit of puzzlement. We’re introduced to Abram at the very end of chapter 11 in the book of Genesis. There, we hear that he’d hung around his Dad’s house through his youth, and deep into his adulthood, ever since his father Terah had packed up some of the family and moved from the bustling Sumerian city-state of Ur into Haran in Canaan, a new country of promise. Once they were there, Abram remained with his father, as he and his wife grew older and older. They couldn’t have kids, because, well, Sarai just couldn’t. So they stayed on with Terah in the family home. It was the place to be.
Terah finally passed on, as the Bible tells us, at the ripe old age of two hundred and five. Now, Abram was the oldest son. According to the customs of the ancient world, everything in the family now belonged to him. All that Terah owned became his, and given how long the old cuss had hung on, he’d waited a looooong time to get his inheritance. You’d think that this would have been the time when Abram would have kicked back, popped open a nice frosty HeBrew, and relaxed his way in comfort through his golden years. But just as he was suddenly freed to do whatever he liked, Abram heard a voice, a calling, a message, that must have sounded impossible in his ears.
Leave all this. Go. There’s something new I want to make of you.
It’s a promise that God repeats over and and over again to Abram. It comes first here, and when Abram hears it, he just takes off and follows it, almost without thinking, like a startled deer. Then the promise comes again in chapter 15, as Abram is deep into his wanderings and deeper into doubt, struggling with the idea that a childless couple could ever found a nation. It comes again in chapters 17 and 18, when God changes Abram’s name to Abraham, and then God blesses Abraham and Sarah with Isaac, their son.
Even though it’s God speaking, both Abraham and Sarah really struggled with the idea that this impossibly bountiful future awaited them. How could it? How could it even be possible? They were old. They were set in their ways. How could there be any real newness coming into their lives? It just didn’t seem possible.
Newness is always a challenge. Pulling up roots and finding a new way of going about your life almost always seems beyond us. Things we don’t yet know, things we haven’t yet seen, these things seem like ghosts to us. Though we try to imagine our future, and sometimes think we have a grasp on it, things almost never turn out the way we anticipate.
If you’ve lived more than five minutes in this world, you know the truth of that. That friend who you thought was always going to be there. That relationship you just knew for sure was the real thing. That degree...or that job...you were sure was going to turn your life around. It seems like there are so many different paths, so many different ways that our lives are going to turn out...and then they don’t. As you watch hopes for change in your life sputter and fail, it’s easy to forget about changing, to forget about growing, to forget about doing anything different. You can settle into a comfortable rut, committing yourself to nothing but what you know, repeating the same patterns over and over again until your every day is like the last. Or, you can give in to cynicism about the possibility of anything different or better than what you now know and do, which is a deeper rut still. Those are the easier paths, the paths that Abram could have taken if he’d just closed his ears.
“What, me move? Nah, I like it here in Haran. I’ve got too much equity in the farm. So why pack up and move? How do I know things’d be better? And kids? Oy, they’re just a pain in the tuchus.” But that’s not how the story went. Abram did have descendants as numerous as the stars. Here we are, and millenia have passed, and we’re still telling his story. Why? Because he and Sarai were willing to commit to a vision that changed them. A vision that not only brought them a new life, but gave new life to an entire people.
It wasn’t that they were perfect. It wasn’t that they had every last detail meticulously planned out. If you read the story of Abram in Genesis 12-24, you’ll find a man who is completely and utterly human. He’s flawed. He doubts. He struggles. He connives. On two separate occasions, he actually pretends that his wife is his sister because he’s not willing to stand up to powerful men who..shall we say...take an interest in her. Wives usually don’t take this kind of thing well once...but twice? This is not exactly the highest and most noble man in the entire universe. He’s just a startlingly ordinary person who trusts what God has shown him.
It’s that trust...that faith...that the Apostle Paul highlights in his letter to the church at Rome. This letter to Rome is perhaps the high point of Paul’s theology, the richest and most detailed Christian expression of what it means to have your life changed by Jesus of Nazareth. In the fourth chapter, Paul uses the promise to Abraham as Exhibit A in the case of God’s grace. The point Paul makes is this: God fulfills God’s promises to Abraham not because Abraham has proven himself worthy through his personal holiness or feats of amazingness. Abraham receives what he receives because he listens and is open to what God is trying to do. He listens, and even when he’s torn by doubts, he has faith. Even when that future seems hard to grasp, he has faith.
Each of us face that kind of challenge in our own lives...and we all face it here together as we gather as a church. We now find ourselves in the second week of the season of Lent, a season of preparation and commitment to the faith. So the question should rightly stand...what are we preparing ourselves for? What is it that we’re looking forward to as a church and as a gathering of Christ’s people?
We know where we’ve been as a church. Just five years ago, this church was looking right over the brink of the abyss. It wasn’t clear where things were going to go, or what future lay before us. We know where we are as a church. Where we are now is a place that I’m not sure folks would have anticipated. This church has one of the most unusual mixes of people I think you’ll find in any Presbyterian church in the area. We have a unique style of worship. I mean that in a truly good way. We have become...for all intents and purposes...a new church, as now more than half of us here weren’t here five years ago. So we, like Abram, have found our way to a new land, to our very own Haran, and settled in for a bit, and it’s been kinda pleasant.
But this isn’t our final destination. What this church has become, what it is now, is only a waypoint on the path to what God has in store for us in our lives together. There’s much more coming. It’s not about growth in numbers, about just making sure we’re filling the pews. It’s not about seeing to it that the plates are full of nice fat envelopes on Sunday.
It’s about finding ways that we together as a church can be better disciples. It’s about realizing that we as a church are free to do things that many other churches couldn’t even attempt. It’s about seeing the possibilities that God has placed before us...and even some of the things that are seemingly impossible...and having enough faith in the God who calls creation itself into existence to press through our doubts and move towards them.
What are those things? Well...I’ll talk about them next week.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Hiding in Silence
Trinity Presbyterian Church of Bethesda/United Korean Presbyterian Church
02.10.08; Rev. John An and Rev. David Williams
(delivered concurrently in English and Korean)
Scripture Lesson: Psalm 32
We all like to play games.
It starts when we are very very young.
Toddlers in particular just love games.
They love the funny face game.
When you smile like a fool
Or puff up your cheeks like a frog
They love any game that involves a grownup looking silly.
Toddlers also love the “Let’s hide Daddy’s car keys under the sofa game.”
That one always gets the grownups to make silly faces.
But there’s one game they love more than any other.
It’s that favorite of all games: Peekaboo.
It’s pretty simple to play.
You cover your face...and you’ve disappeared!
Where’d you go?
It’s like magic!
Then, you uncover your face again.
And you’ve reappeared!
Amazing!
Of course, in the mind of a small toddler, that’s just what’s happened.
Their minds have not yet developed.
They don’t yet understand
That things are still there even if you don’t see them right in front of you.
Every time you uncover your face
They’re unprepared for your return.
Such silly little creatures!
Yet here we are
Most of us are grown up human beings.
We come here because we believe in God.
God, who is all loving.
God, who is all knowing.
God, who hems us in before and behind.
God, who knows our going in and our coming out.
But do we truly perceive what that means?
Do we truly act as if we grasped it?
Or are we like those ancients who first sang the 32nd Psalm?
Tradition attributes this song to King David.
It’s called a maskil, which is a “teaching Psalm.”
So what does this Psalm teach us?
In the first four verses, it tells us of suffering
The suffering of one who kept silence before God.
In trying to hide from God,
like Adam and Eve tried to hide themselves from God,
suddenly life became unbearable.
The heart of this text comes in verses five and six.
In those verses, the psalmist’s sin isn’t hidden, it’s acknowledged
And iniquity isn’t hidden.
God’s response isn’t anger
God’s response isn’t punishment
It’s love and grace and forgiveness.
This is what the maskil teaches
This is what we so often struggle to embrace.
If we accept God’s all encompassing power
Why is it so hard for us to embrace His forgiveness
and to turn to that forgiveness with an open heart?
In verse 11, we are reminded that the results of that openness are gladness.
The results of that openness are rejoicing.
The results of that openness are shouts of joy.
But...we continue to hide away.
Here in the first Sunday of Lent
We are called upon to claim these next weeks.
In this season of preparation as we move towards Easter Sunday
We need to capitalize on every Sunday
We need to capitalize on every day
We need to capitalize on every moment
Opening ourselves to God’s presence.
This is a time to prepare ourselves.
We prepare ourselves through prayer.
We prepare ourselves through rededication.
We prepare ourselves through recommitment.
But most of all, we prepare ourselves by opening our hearts.
We need to open ourselves up to the presence of God
Open ourselves up to the release that comes from his forgiveness
Open ourselves up to the joy that comes from Christ’s resurrection.
Over these forty days,
allow the seed of God’s grace to plant itself in you.
Nurture it with prayer
Water it with kindness
Till it with acts of love and mercy
But most importantly, don’t hide it away from God’s light.
Let it grow
Let it flourish
It is a joyous thing
It should be a joyous time.
As you prepare, come to this season with a light and eager heart.
Not like a mule or a beast of burden who must be coerced
But in the free knowledge of what God has to offer all of us.
Approach this season with a developed mind
And a spiritually mature heart.
For though we are all such silly little creatures
Forgetting that things are still there even if we don’t see them right in front of us
Remember.
Uncover your face.
Uncover your heart.
Be prepared for His return.
02.10.08; Rev. John An and Rev. David Williams
(delivered concurrently in English and Korean)
Scripture Lesson: Psalm 32
We all like to play games.
It starts when we are very very young.
Toddlers in particular just love games.
They love the funny face game.
When you smile like a fool
Or puff up your cheeks like a frog
They love any game that involves a grownup looking silly.
Toddlers also love the “Let’s hide Daddy’s car keys under the sofa game.”
That one always gets the grownups to make silly faces.
But there’s one game they love more than any other.
It’s that favorite of all games: Peekaboo.
It’s pretty simple to play.
You cover your face...and you’ve disappeared!
Where’d you go?
It’s like magic!
Then, you uncover your face again.
And you’ve reappeared!
Amazing!
Of course, in the mind of a small toddler, that’s just what’s happened.
Their minds have not yet developed.
They don’t yet understand
That things are still there even if you don’t see them right in front of you.
Every time you uncover your face
They’re unprepared for your return.
Such silly little creatures!
Yet here we are
Most of us are grown up human beings.
We come here because we believe in God.
God, who is all loving.
God, who is all knowing.
God, who hems us in before and behind.
God, who knows our going in and our coming out.
But do we truly perceive what that means?
Do we truly act as if we grasped it?
Or are we like those ancients who first sang the 32nd Psalm?
Tradition attributes this song to King David.
It’s called a maskil, which is a “teaching Psalm.”
So what does this Psalm teach us?
In the first four verses, it tells us of suffering
The suffering of one who kept silence before God.
In trying to hide from God,
like Adam and Eve tried to hide themselves from God,
suddenly life became unbearable.
The heart of this text comes in verses five and six.
In those verses, the psalmist’s sin isn’t hidden, it’s acknowledged
And iniquity isn’t hidden.
God’s response isn’t anger
God’s response isn’t punishment
It’s love and grace and forgiveness.
This is what the maskil teaches
This is what we so often struggle to embrace.
If we accept God’s all encompassing power
Why is it so hard for us to embrace His forgiveness
and to turn to that forgiveness with an open heart?
In verse 11, we are reminded that the results of that openness are gladness.
The results of that openness are rejoicing.
The results of that openness are shouts of joy.
But...we continue to hide away.
Here in the first Sunday of Lent
We are called upon to claim these next weeks.
In this season of preparation as we move towards Easter Sunday
We need to capitalize on every Sunday
We need to capitalize on every day
We need to capitalize on every moment
Opening ourselves to God’s presence.
This is a time to prepare ourselves.
We prepare ourselves through prayer.
We prepare ourselves through rededication.
We prepare ourselves through recommitment.
But most of all, we prepare ourselves by opening our hearts.
We need to open ourselves up to the presence of God
Open ourselves up to the release that comes from his forgiveness
Open ourselves up to the joy that comes from Christ’s resurrection.
Over these forty days,
allow the seed of God’s grace to plant itself in you.
Nurture it with prayer
Water it with kindness
Till it with acts of love and mercy
But most importantly, don’t hide it away from God’s light.
Let it grow
Let it flourish
It is a joyous thing
It should be a joyous time.
As you prepare, come to this season with a light and eager heart.
Not like a mule or a beast of burden who must be coerced
But in the free knowledge of what God has to offer all of us.
Approach this season with a developed mind
And a spiritually mature heart.
For though we are all such silly little creatures
Forgetting that things are still there even if we don’t see them right in front of us
Remember.
Uncover your face.
Uncover your heart.
Be prepared for His return.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Metrics
Trinity Presbyterian Church of Bethesda
02.04.08; Rev. David Williams
How do you know that a church is succeeding? Is our church succeeding?
I don’t know how often all of you think about this question, but for some inexplicable reason, I think about it a whole bunch. In fact, there’s a whole industry of pastoral consultants and church growth experts who hold workshops and publish books and manuals that claim to tell church leaders what it means to have a healthy congregation.
One of the first things that you’re going to find some of these professional church growers telling you is that you’ve got to know what’s going on in your church. To do that, you’ve got to figure out what metrics to use to measure success or failure. What do I mean by metrics? I’m not talking about the metric system, that logical decimally based system of measurement that everyone in the world uses. Everyone but Americans, that is, who are too thick-headed to give up the English system of measurement even though the English themselves haven’t used it for a generation. A metric just means a way of measuring something, of determining it’s value against a set standard. So...what are the metrics by which we know a church is healthy? There are many.
If you’ve seen pictures of church life back in the 1980s and early 1990s, one of the primary metrics of a healthy church seemed to be how much hair your pastor or pastors had. By that standard, we here at Trinity...well...let’s just say we’re not doing as well as we once were.
In the South for most of the 20th century, one of the primary metrics of how well your church was doing was the size and sparklyness of your pastor’s ride. The more expensive-looking and shiny the car, the better your church must be doing. If we use that approach here at Trinity...well...it depends which pastor we’re looking at. If you split the difference, then we’re probably doing OK, but fortunately most church growth consultants don’t use that measure.
There are other standards, like how much money you take in and how big your budget is, or how large your church building is, or how many programs you run, or how many children you have enrolled in your education program. But of all of the metrics that we have, the gold standard for church health on which all consultants seem to agree is worship attendance. If people are committed to church, they come to worship. If they come to worship, you can count them. That gives you a number every single worship. If that number goes down, things are bad. If that number goes up, things are good. It’s a nice clear quantitative standard, straightforward and easy to track. You can put those numbers into a spreadsheet and create charts and graphs and Powerpoint presentations to impress your congregation. If your church has a huge worship, it’s a guarantee that it’s a success.
Isn’t it? Isn’t that what it’s all about?
What did we hear from the Bible today?
From Micah of Moresheth, prophet to the people of Israel, we heard an aggressive challenge from God to God’s people. Micah preached in the southern kingdom of Judah in the eighth century before Christ, at a time at which the Assyrian Empire stormed across the ancient near East.
Unlike the priests in the temple in Jerusalem, Micah didn’t convey the message that Jerusalem could never fall because it was protected by God. Instead, Micah’s message was that the people of Judah were wrong about what mattered to God, and that all of their misplaced expectations about what God thought was important could cost them dearly.
So through Micah, Judah gets a challenge from God. It’s not just any challenge, but a covenant challenge, where through Micah the Creator of the universe takes his people to task for failing to uphold their end of the agreement they’d made with God. How do we know it’s a covenant challenge? First, creation itself is called to stand as a witness, which throughout the Bible is an indicator of a covenant between God and humankind. Second, several obscure events and places are mentioned. They may not mean much to us, but they meant a whole bunch to the people back then.
Who were King Balak of Moab and Balaam son of Beor? In Numbers 22-24, Balak tries to have the prophet Balaam curse the Israelites, but he says he can’t because God protects them. Where are Shittim and Gilgal? They’re on either side of the river Jordan, which Jacob crossed when he was given the name Israel. Those citations are a sign of God’s presence with Israel. But as Micah proclaims it, something has gone wrong with what Israel thinks it’s supposed to bring into their relationship with God.
God doesn’t measure their faith by numbers. He also didn’t measure their faith by how well they pulled off worship, or how large their worship was. Micah describes a perfect temple worship, with exactly the right offerings, and then multiplies that by ten. But what does that mean to God? Thousands of rams? Meaningless. Ten thousands of rivers of oil? Sure, the priests down at the temple cared a great deal about that, but did God? No. God doesn’t count heads. God doesn’t check plate receipts, be they in dollars or livestock. Those ways of measuring your faithfulness to God just aren’t what God cares about. To be successful in following God’s covenant, God has laid out the metrics pretty clearly:
Do justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly with your God. Nothing more. Nothing less.
That problem with metrics seems to have plagued the early church as well. In the first reading we heard today from the letter to the church at Corinth, the Apostle Paul is still in the middle of challenging those pesky Corinthians. As you may...or may not...remember from last week, the church at Corinth was really into division and infighting, into proving who was strong and who was weak.
But as they struggled for dominance, there was one teensy little problem. All the ways they measured power and importance had exactly nothing to do with Jesus. Power? He died on the cross. Importance? He held no rank or office, had no money or privilege. There was no collection at Golgotha. As he died, he had only as many followers stay with him as you could count on one hand. By every standard and every metric of human success, Jesus was a failure. That failure was a stumbling block to the Jews of his day, and foolishness to Gentiles. They just couldn’t grasp it. How could this be what God wants? How could this selfless sacrifice be what God wants, and who God is?
So if this is what God considers success, how in the world are you supposed to measure it? The basic answer is...you're not. What you and I consider success, our metrics...these aren't what matters. It isn't our task to measure. It is God's.
02.04.08; Rev. David Williams
How do you know that a church is succeeding? Is our church succeeding?
I don’t know how often all of you think about this question, but for some inexplicable reason, I think about it a whole bunch. In fact, there’s a whole industry of pastoral consultants and church growth experts who hold workshops and publish books and manuals that claim to tell church leaders what it means to have a healthy congregation.
One of the first things that you’re going to find some of these professional church growers telling you is that you’ve got to know what’s going on in your church. To do that, you’ve got to figure out what metrics to use to measure success or failure. What do I mean by metrics? I’m not talking about the metric system, that logical decimally based system of measurement that everyone in the world uses. Everyone but Americans, that is, who are too thick-headed to give up the English system of measurement even though the English themselves haven’t used it for a generation. A metric just means a way of measuring something, of determining it’s value against a set standard. So...what are the metrics by which we know a church is healthy? There are many.
If you’ve seen pictures of church life back in the 1980s and early 1990s, one of the primary metrics of a healthy church seemed to be how much hair your pastor or pastors had. By that standard, we here at Trinity...well...let’s just say we’re not doing as well as we once were.
In the South for most of the 20th century, one of the primary metrics of how well your church was doing was the size and sparklyness of your pastor’s ride. The more expensive-looking and shiny the car, the better your church must be doing. If we use that approach here at Trinity...well...it depends which pastor we’re looking at. If you split the difference, then we’re probably doing OK, but fortunately most church growth consultants don’t use that measure.
There are other standards, like how much money you take in and how big your budget is, or how large your church building is, or how many programs you run, or how many children you have enrolled in your education program. But of all of the metrics that we have, the gold standard for church health on which all consultants seem to agree is worship attendance. If people are committed to church, they come to worship. If they come to worship, you can count them. That gives you a number every single worship. If that number goes down, things are bad. If that number goes up, things are good. It’s a nice clear quantitative standard, straightforward and easy to track. You can put those numbers into a spreadsheet and create charts and graphs and Powerpoint presentations to impress your congregation. If your church has a huge worship, it’s a guarantee that it’s a success.
Isn’t it? Isn’t that what it’s all about?
What did we hear from the Bible today?
From Micah of Moresheth, prophet to the people of Israel, we heard an aggressive challenge from God to God’s people. Micah preached in the southern kingdom of Judah in the eighth century before Christ, at a time at which the Assyrian Empire stormed across the ancient near East.
Unlike the priests in the temple in Jerusalem, Micah didn’t convey the message that Jerusalem could never fall because it was protected by God. Instead, Micah’s message was that the people of Judah were wrong about what mattered to God, and that all of their misplaced expectations about what God thought was important could cost them dearly.
So through Micah, Judah gets a challenge from God. It’s not just any challenge, but a covenant challenge, where through Micah the Creator of the universe takes his people to task for failing to uphold their end of the agreement they’d made with God. How do we know it’s a covenant challenge? First, creation itself is called to stand as a witness, which throughout the Bible is an indicator of a covenant between God and humankind. Second, several obscure events and places are mentioned. They may not mean much to us, but they meant a whole bunch to the people back then.
Who were King Balak of Moab and Balaam son of Beor? In Numbers 22-24, Balak tries to have the prophet Balaam curse the Israelites, but he says he can’t because God protects them. Where are Shittim and Gilgal? They’re on either side of the river Jordan, which Jacob crossed when he was given the name Israel. Those citations are a sign of God’s presence with Israel. But as Micah proclaims it, something has gone wrong with what Israel thinks it’s supposed to bring into their relationship with God.
God doesn’t measure their faith by numbers. He also didn’t measure their faith by how well they pulled off worship, or how large their worship was. Micah describes a perfect temple worship, with exactly the right offerings, and then multiplies that by ten. But what does that mean to God? Thousands of rams? Meaningless. Ten thousands of rivers of oil? Sure, the priests down at the temple cared a great deal about that, but did God? No. God doesn’t count heads. God doesn’t check plate receipts, be they in dollars or livestock. Those ways of measuring your faithfulness to God just aren’t what God cares about. To be successful in following God’s covenant, God has laid out the metrics pretty clearly:
Do justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly with your God. Nothing more. Nothing less.
That problem with metrics seems to have plagued the early church as well. In the first reading we heard today from the letter to the church at Corinth, the Apostle Paul is still in the middle of challenging those pesky Corinthians. As you may...or may not...remember from last week, the church at Corinth was really into division and infighting, into proving who was strong and who was weak.
But as they struggled for dominance, there was one teensy little problem. All the ways they measured power and importance had exactly nothing to do with Jesus. Power? He died on the cross. Importance? He held no rank or office, had no money or privilege. There was no collection at Golgotha. As he died, he had only as many followers stay with him as you could count on one hand. By every standard and every metric of human success, Jesus was a failure. That failure was a stumbling block to the Jews of his day, and foolishness to Gentiles. They just couldn’t grasp it. How could this be what God wants? How could this selfless sacrifice be what God wants, and who God is?
So if this is what God considers success, how in the world are you supposed to measure it? The basic answer is...you're not. What you and I consider success, our metrics...these aren't what matters. It isn't our task to measure. It is God's.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Sheep and Goats
Trinity Presbyterian Church of Bethesda
01.27.08; Rev. David Williams
All human beings like to make judgments about what is good and what is not. It helps order our world, helps us to frame things in a way that is easy to understand. One of the easiest ways to do this is to view the world like a game, a game in which there is are those who win and those who lose. The winners are good. The losers are...well....losers.
In a couple of weeks, as they do every year, the vast majority of Americans will gather around their televisions to watch the Super Bowl. As they drink watery American beer and each snarf down 4,000 calories worth of simple carbohydrates, they’ll see two teams battle it out for dominance. There will be one winner and one loser, one champion and one not-champion. It’s nice and clear. It’s black and white, night and day.
That binary way of looking at the world has seeped its way into much of American life. Take our system of laws and justice. Everyone divides up into two teams. You have the prosecuting team, whose job appears to be to maximize the penalty that the accused receives. “No, your honor, we don’t believe that seeking the death penalty for unauthorized music downloads is without precedent.” Far fetched, you say? Well...most of you don’t live in Virginia.
Then you have the defending team, whose task is to insure that you get off. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, what you have heard so far does seem to indicate that my client did kill and eat the victim. But, as our panel of highly paid expert witnesses will now demonstrate, he was suffering from a rare case of low-blood sugar-induced Cannibalistic Impulse Disorder at the time.”
Our love of the black and white has pushed it’s way into our politics, where we are allowed only two parties...the Reds and the Blues. You’re only allowed to be one or the other, and the two battle over power like two dogs fighting over a bone. When they’re not fighting amongst themselves, that is.
To admit for a moment that maybe the other party might be right about something is to admit defeat. To try to see things through the eyes of your opponent is to admit defeat. Your job as a politician is to win at all costs. You either have power or you don’t. Telling the truth and being honest with people is acceptable, sure, but only if it helps you win.
That hunger to prove yourself the winner, to make sure that the whole world knows that you’re the victor and everyone else is the loser, that old hunger has been around for a while. It was certainly around in the time of the Apostle Paul. Paul’s struggles with the compulsively divisive church at Corinth were nearly constant. Corinth was a trading hub in the Roman Empire, and was legendary for it’s dog-eat-dog, do anything to get ahead, I’m-gonna-get-me-mine mentality. Proving yourself a winner and back-stabbing your way up the ladder of prosperity was just expected. It’s what Corinthians did, to the point that Roman historians and social commentators at the time invariably mention what a heartless, money-grubbing, uncharitable, and self-absorbed city Corinth was.
How bad was it? Well, Corinth had such a reputation that it became a verb in common Greek that was spoken in the Ancient Roman Empire. The verb was korinthiazomai. The verb “to Corinth” meant...um...well...how to put this nicely...to fornicate. What a wonderful place to plant a church!
As we read this morning from Paul’s First Letter to the Fornicators...oh, sorry, Corinthians...the Apostle Paul is taking them to task for their relentless efforts to prove themselves better than everyone around them. Within the church at Corinth, things had rapidly devolved into the same kind of competitive gamesmanship that defined the world around them. They had divided into teams, and had at it against one another. Seeing their divisions, the heart of Paul’s message in response can be found at the beginning of verse 13:
“Has Christ been divided?”
For Paul, who believed that all Christians were made one as Christ’s body through the Holy Spirit, the relentless divisiveness of the Corinthians was deeply frustrating. Their visible lack of unity, their squabbling, and their attacks on one another as they jockeyed for position within the church indicated to him that they hadn’t really grasped what the faith was all about. Even those who claimed to “belong to Paul” frustrated him. In fact, those people who thought they were part of “his faction” were singled out for his irritation. It is his own supporters that Paul asks “Was Paul crucified for you? Were you baptized into the name of Paul?” C’mon, people!
What Paul was arguing against was not disagreement. Folks can and will disagree about things, even Christians of good conscience. Instead, what Paul was arguing against was that human tendency to put everyone into two categories, winners and losers, sheep and goats. It isn’t that there’s not judgment. It isn’t that there’s not disagreement. If we’re going to be made one by the Holy Spirit that Christ promised, we’ve got to be willing to focus more deeply on what it is that unites us, who it is that unites us...and less on issues that allow us to conveniently polarize into for and against camps.
I got a chance to see that happening this week at the meeting of our Presbytery, where we once again argued about gays and lesbians in the ministry. What struck me about the discussion at the meeting wasn’t that we as a denomination were going at this controversial issue again. It was, instead, the way that the “debate” was structured. There were two lines, each for one microphone. In one line, the folks in favor of one side of the issue. In another, folks on the other. We were divided up into teams, pro and con, black and white. I didn’t ask which line was for the sheep and which was for the goats, although I was sorely tempted.
Although there are many things that concern the church, and many things that are important, the struggles we have are ultimately struggles that we have together. Our task...our goal...is to stop approach our lives of faith together like a game that must be won or lost. Because when we view those around us as adversaries who must be defeated, we have already lost.
01.27.08; Rev. David Williams
All human beings like to make judgments about what is good and what is not. It helps order our world, helps us to frame things in a way that is easy to understand. One of the easiest ways to do this is to view the world like a game, a game in which there is are those who win and those who lose. The winners are good. The losers are...well....losers.
In a couple of weeks, as they do every year, the vast majority of Americans will gather around their televisions to watch the Super Bowl. As they drink watery American beer and each snarf down 4,000 calories worth of simple carbohydrates, they’ll see two teams battle it out for dominance. There will be one winner and one loser, one champion and one not-champion. It’s nice and clear. It’s black and white, night and day.
That binary way of looking at the world has seeped its way into much of American life. Take our system of laws and justice. Everyone divides up into two teams. You have the prosecuting team, whose job appears to be to maximize the penalty that the accused receives. “No, your honor, we don’t believe that seeking the death penalty for unauthorized music downloads is without precedent.” Far fetched, you say? Well...most of you don’t live in Virginia.
Then you have the defending team, whose task is to insure that you get off. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, what you have heard so far does seem to indicate that my client did kill and eat the victim. But, as our panel of highly paid expert witnesses will now demonstrate, he was suffering from a rare case of low-blood sugar-induced Cannibalistic Impulse Disorder at the time.”
Our love of the black and white has pushed it’s way into our politics, where we are allowed only two parties...the Reds and the Blues. You’re only allowed to be one or the other, and the two battle over power like two dogs fighting over a bone. When they’re not fighting amongst themselves, that is.
To admit for a moment that maybe the other party might be right about something is to admit defeat. To try to see things through the eyes of your opponent is to admit defeat. Your job as a politician is to win at all costs. You either have power or you don’t. Telling the truth and being honest with people is acceptable, sure, but only if it helps you win.
That hunger to prove yourself the winner, to make sure that the whole world knows that you’re the victor and everyone else is the loser, that old hunger has been around for a while. It was certainly around in the time of the Apostle Paul. Paul’s struggles with the compulsively divisive church at Corinth were nearly constant. Corinth was a trading hub in the Roman Empire, and was legendary for it’s dog-eat-dog, do anything to get ahead, I’m-gonna-get-me-mine mentality. Proving yourself a winner and back-stabbing your way up the ladder of prosperity was just expected. It’s what Corinthians did, to the point that Roman historians and social commentators at the time invariably mention what a heartless, money-grubbing, uncharitable, and self-absorbed city Corinth was.
How bad was it? Well, Corinth had such a reputation that it became a verb in common Greek that was spoken in the Ancient Roman Empire. The verb was korinthiazomai. The verb “to Corinth” meant...um...well...how to put this nicely...to fornicate. What a wonderful place to plant a church!
As we read this morning from Paul’s First Letter to the Fornicators...oh, sorry, Corinthians...the Apostle Paul is taking them to task for their relentless efforts to prove themselves better than everyone around them. Within the church at Corinth, things had rapidly devolved into the same kind of competitive gamesmanship that defined the world around them. They had divided into teams, and had at it against one another. Seeing their divisions, the heart of Paul’s message in response can be found at the beginning of verse 13:
“Has Christ been divided?”
For Paul, who believed that all Christians were made one as Christ’s body through the Holy Spirit, the relentless divisiveness of the Corinthians was deeply frustrating. Their visible lack of unity, their squabbling, and their attacks on one another as they jockeyed for position within the church indicated to him that they hadn’t really grasped what the faith was all about. Even those who claimed to “belong to Paul” frustrated him. In fact, those people who thought they were part of “his faction” were singled out for his irritation. It is his own supporters that Paul asks “Was Paul crucified for you? Were you baptized into the name of Paul?” C’mon, people!
What Paul was arguing against was not disagreement. Folks can and will disagree about things, even Christians of good conscience. Instead, what Paul was arguing against was that human tendency to put everyone into two categories, winners and losers, sheep and goats. It isn’t that there’s not judgment. It isn’t that there’s not disagreement. If we’re going to be made one by the Holy Spirit that Christ promised, we’ve got to be willing to focus more deeply on what it is that unites us, who it is that unites us...and less on issues that allow us to conveniently polarize into for and against camps.
I got a chance to see that happening this week at the meeting of our Presbytery, where we once again argued about gays and lesbians in the ministry. What struck me about the discussion at the meeting wasn’t that we as a denomination were going at this controversial issue again. It was, instead, the way that the “debate” was structured. There were two lines, each for one microphone. In one line, the folks in favor of one side of the issue. In another, folks on the other. We were divided up into teams, pro and con, black and white. I didn’t ask which line was for the sheep and which was for the goats, although I was sorely tempted.
Although there are many things that concern the church, and many things that are important, the struggles we have are ultimately struggles that we have together. Our task...our goal...is to stop approach our lives of faith together like a game that must be won or lost. Because when we view those around us as adversaries who must be defeated, we have already lost.
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