Opening Doors

Sermon

A Sri Lankan pastor named D.T. Niles, who lived in the 20th century, is best known for this quote. “Evangelism is one beggar telling another beggar where to find bread.” Evangelism, sharing the good news, is about living with generosity, and empathy, and love of God, and concern for the larger whole.

Which may or may not bring us to this little story in Luke’s gospel that Jesus tells. Coming on the heels of teaching the disciples how to pray, Jesus now tells them that they must pray with persistence. Except the Greek word anaideian doesn’t really mean persistence, as it’s translated in the New Revised Standard, nor does it mean importunity, as it’s translated in other versions.

That Greek word, anaideian, really means shamelessness. And any time you hear the word “shame” in the context of the world in which Jesus lived, you need to sit up and pay attention, because Jesus lived in a culture in which one’s honor meant everything, and to bring dishonor or shame could ruin one’s life. Before we get too far down this road, keep the big picture in mind: Jesus upended the honor/shame system. Remember that.

One thing that commentators on this passage note is the lack of clarity, at first, about who is being shameless. Is it the friend who needs bread, waking up his neighbor and his household? Or is it the neighbor who is woken up, who will not respond to the basic need? We might say that the first guy, the breadless guy, is being terribly rude and maybe should have planned ahead and can wait until morning for bread rather than wake everyone up.

But Jesus would say something different. Jesus would say that the woken-up guy is the one who is shameless for not honoring the rule of hospitality which requires that you feed hungry people who show up at your door. That man should be full of shame for not providing for his neighbor.

And yet… there’s another meaning to that word shameless, the literal English meaning—without shame. Not being ashamed of oneself despite the categories society has created. Not living with a sense of one’s worthlessness but celebrating being a beloved child of God.

Over the millennia, the church has done a great job of shaming people. When I was in my first call, over twenty-five years ago, a young woman in the community was pregnant out of wedlock. I still remember an elder of the church asking if we – the church – shouldn’t shame this woman. And he meant it. I remember being horrified at that thought but maybe not able to articulate why. And I remember another wise elder saying something about Jesus’ mother being pregnant out of wedlock and maybe shaming was not the holy thing to do.

When did the church get out of the business of providing bread for hungry people and get into the business of shaming and excluding? I suspect it was not a specific day, but decision after decision, decree after decree, papal bulls and dogmatics and bad theology that led to people quietly slipping

out the back door of the church, never to return to a place where they were made to feel bad about themselves.

It’s a relevant question. Do we as individuals, and more importantly, do we as a church, want to be a community that tells our hungry neighbor at midnight to go away, to find their own dang bread? Do we want our hungry neighbor to feel shame for not having prepared, for not having bread? That’s an easy way to live. Things are very black and white. You may ask for bread between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m., Monday through Friday, but really, it’s better to put bread on your grocery list and not waste your money on Starbucks.

Or do we want to be a community that opens the door to our hungry neighbor and says, “Come in, come in – we are delighted to share what bread we have”?

I am speaking metaphorically, of course. I am speaking of being the kind of community that opens its doors to whomever and says come in, come in; we are delighted to share what we have. Because, friends, for a long time the church – maybe Westminster specifically but definitely the capital-C Church – has not been that kind of community.

I think about women who were told for decades and centuries and millennia that their gifts were not welcome, certainly not in church leadership. Even today, I will look up some of the more hip churches in Portland and notice not one woman serves as a pastor or on the governing board. And that breaks my heart, not simply for the women who are denied full inclusion but also for the congregation itself, missing out on their gifts.

I think about an acquaintance, a black Presbyterian pastor, who attended an all-white church with her mother when she was a child. She wanted to be baptized. The Session decided that she could be baptized, but not in the sanctuary, not on a Sunday morning. So she was baptized in the pastor’s office, with three white male elders in attendance. It is a miracle that she did not give up on the church.

And today I think about our lesbian, gay, transgender, bisexual, queer, and questioning friends who heard again and again from the church: No. You should be ashamed. You’re not welcome. You’re welcome to worship but you can’t serve. We love the sinner but hate the sin.

From the time I was ordained, the Presbyterian church has fought and fought and fought about the full inclusion of LGBTQ folks in our denomination. There were vicious debates and horrific things said. I remember a presbytery meeting where John Buchanan, then pastor of Fourth Presbyterian Church in Chicago and former moderator of the General Assembly, lamented that we had just accepted the resignation of a very wonderful and talented pastor who was leaving for the United Church of Christ because as a gay man, he was not granted full inclusion by the Presbyterians.

This morning I look out on the congregation and I see members of our Westminster community who have been shameless, in the best possible meaning of that word, in knocking on the door of the church and saying, “Let us in.” I think about the courage they have had in their lives to come out as

gay or lesbian or transgender or bi or queer. (And I fully acknowledge that different folks in the Pride community prefer different words.) I think about their not having shame about who they are, remembering that they are beloved children of God, even when the powers of the church told them otherwise.

I think about the message of the capital-C Church that stood for years: you cannot be your authentic self and be a part of this community. What a terrible, terrible thing to say to someone. You can join us, but you can’t be yourself.

So, to my gay, lesbian, transgender, bisexual, queer, and questioning siblings and brothers and sisters in Christ, to my friends, I apologize on behalf of the church. I confess that we have not behaved like Jesus. I confess that we have withheld bread from our hungry neighbor. I confess that we have allowed you to be hated and reviled and shamed and excluded, and that is wrong.

Because we are so much better with you here. We are better because you bring the rainbow. You bring your gifts and your talents and your faith and your doubts, your time, the fullness of your being and all your life experience. That makes us richer and more empathetic and better.

Friends – all of you friends – we have work to do. We have bread to share and hungry people who are banging on our figurative doors. Some are hungry for unconditional love. Some are hungry for community. Some are hungry for justice. Some are hungry for God. Some are simply and literally hungry.

And what does the Lord require of us?

We who have found where the bread is are required to share. We who have known unconditional love are required to love unconditionally. We who have been blessed to be in community are required to welcome others into our community. We who have received justice are required to demand justice for others. We who have known God are required to let others know God too. We who are well fed are required to share in our bounty.

As the prophet asks, what does the Lord require of us? To do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God. And I would add, to open doors that have been too long shut.

For everyone born, a place at the table…