Reformed and Always Reforming

Sermon

Verse from “The Summons”

Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?

Will you go where you don’t know and never be the same?

Will you let my love be shown?  Will you let my name be known?

Will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?

 “Reformed and Always Reforming”

After my second year of theological seminary I was invited to preach at my home church in Seattle. This congregation, in which I had been nurtured since infancy, had given me moral and financial support as I began my training to be a pastor. The Sunday assigned to me was July 20, 1969, and as the time approached I realized that Apollo 11 was on its way to the moon, with touchdown scheduled for that very weekend. As a young Presbyterian who desired to speak with a prophetic voice, I saw this as a great opportunity to show my ability to comment on a historic occasion.

Success with this venture was likely to give Americans a boost in their patriotic pride, which had languished ever since the Soviets put Sputnik in Earth’s orbit. But some critics had already raised questions about the moon shot. Was landing a man on the moon before the Russians a good use for all the money being spent?

In spite of this phenomenal accomplishment in space travel, was it more important than using national resources to grapple with hunger, poverty, environmental degradation, and international conflict here on Earth? I wanted to preach a provocative sermon, and I used the Tower of Babel story in Genesis and the words of Jeremiah as my text. The Tower of Babel is a metaphor for human pride in our own accomplishments, and Jeremiah thunders forth that knowing God and God’s steadfast love, justice, and righteousness is a far greater thing to boast about.

I titled my sermon “The Man on the Moon” and congratulated myself on this very clever approach to a topic all were sure to be interested in. After the service, as I stood at the door greeting church members, their response was polite but muted. No one seemed upset, but no one really affirmed what I had said. Most said something like “It’s good to see you again, John,” and an occasional “Thanks for the sermon.” Looking back a half century later, I can well imagine folks thinking to themselves, “Who asked him to rain on our parade?” I wonder if some of them muttered to others, “Where did this man get all this? Isn’t this Johnny, Willard and Barbara’s son, and brother of Dick and Trudy and Anson and Alice?” There were just two other occasions when I was invited to preach there, after graduating and six years later. But I suspect they were mostly curious to see if my preaching skills had improved at all.

In our gospel reading this morning, Jesus comes back to Nazareth and does some teaching in his home synagogue. People are not thrilled to hear him. Mark says that “many who heard him… took offense at him.” Mark depicts a somewhat disappointed and surprised Jesus, who nevertheless comments philosophically: “Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.”

This universal truth applies not just to prophets and pastors; it seems appropriate wherever someone begins work as a fresh face with new ideas, and we are impressed by them. But the longer we know someone, the more we realize they are human, and so the honeymoon ends.

How does Jesus react to the snub? His neighbors and relatives know him too well or think they do. So he employs some great strategies: One is to delegate important parts of his work to his disciples. He recognizes more people will get his message that way.

The second is to send them out in teams of two. Then they’ll be able to support and complement each other’s message as they do their work.

The third is to give them “authority over… unclean spirits,” and so Mark reports that “they proclaimed that all should repent” and that “they cast out many demons.” However they carried out this mission, I believe they were creating safe spaces for people to honestly admit their shortcomings, be liberated from the demons that possessed them, and experience forgiveness and healing.

And finally, Jesus prepares them for the likelihood that there would always be folks who would not welcome them or listen to them. His admonition to “shake off the dust that is on your feet” as you leave them might sound like a way of cursing them, but I think he was also saying, “don’t waste your time trying to accomplish tasks or use methods that aren’t working with certain people. Move on to other ways, or if necessary, work with other people. Be good stewards of your time and energy.”

Delegate. Work in teams. Invite repentance. And cut your losses. I was to learn the wisdom of these four strategies, but only gradually through experience, over the next five decades.

After a year as a VISTA volunteer in the “War on Poverty,” and motivated by the reconciliation and social justice themes in our new Presbyterian Confession of 1967, I graduated from seminary eager to go to work. The church could work to reform the world, and I wanted to be a leader in reforming the church. In many ways, church renewal was to be my theme through all my years of ministry in Oregon.

In my first decade, the 1970s, my main form of church renewal was to be an activist in the ecumenical movement. Pastoring a small suburban congregation, I worked as a catalyst for bringing together congregations of different denominations in shared programs and events. Over those five years, I discovered that preaching was not my strong suit. I also realized that as a pastor I could benefit from having staff colleagues to help me make wiser decisions. During the rest of my career, except for one brief stint as an interim pastor, I served in churches with clergy teams—a much better fit for me.

My next call in the ’70s allowed me to team up with a United Methodist pastor in serving a Presbyterian congregation and a Methodist congregation. Over the next few years, those congregations grew steadily closer with combined programs, and then decided to become a single union church. At the time, it felt to me like we were on the cutting edge of ecumenism, where Christians divided by ancient denominational splits might move ever closer to reunion.

During the next decade, the ’80s, I was in an associate position, with an emphasis on Christian education. I had the opportunity to partner with skilled elders in starting a Stephen Minister program and a Kerygma Bible study series. We were not just delegating tasks typically assigned to pastors, but re-empowering the laity for caring ministries and in Biblical scholarship.

In the ’90s, I had a call from a tiny urban congregation struggling to survive as a viable church while burdened with the maintenance of their large, aging building. With the help of some teaching and ruling elders from other Portland churches, including Westminster’s beloved Sid Birt, we successfully wrote a redevelopment grant proposal to open up new strategies for ministry.

As the new century began, I was spending several years as an at-home dad for our daughter, Sarah. But then I returned to ministry as a pastoral visitor for a fifth congregation. Calling on members in homes, hospitals, retirement communities, and nursing homes, I felt privileged to be able to convey reassurance of God’s presence with the support of the church in times of loneliness, loss, and illness.

In 2010 as an honorably retired minister, I took one more assignment, this time as a volunteer for the Presbytery. Over four years a creative team of several pastors and elders worked with me in an effort to reinvent Presbytery meetings. Experimenting with a more interactive format, break-out sessions, personal-story sharing, and video and computer technology, we coaxed our brothers and sisters into a more 21^st century mode of gathering and working.

And here at Westminster I’ve had the fun of introducing newer hymns and varied instrumental arrangements with our summer ACROBand.

So those were the themes of my efforts in church renewal in the five decades since ordination:

in the ’70s: REUNION

in the ’80s: RE-EMPOWERMENT

in the ’90s: REDEVELOPMENT

in the 2000s: REASSURANCE

in the 2010s: REINVENTION

I’m not sure how much the Presbyterian church has been renewed through my work, but I am sure that God has been renewing me:

in calling me to repent of any pride I had in my pastoral skills

in showing me where my spiritual gifts lay and where they didn’t

in casting out my demons of perfectionism

in forgiving me for my self-judgment in not accomplishing all my noble goals.

Looking back over my life as a pastor, a presbyter, a parent, and a pew-sitter, I think God has led me through an arc of three stages of ministry:

Telling people how to live

Showing people how to live

Walking with people as they live their faith journey

At Westminster, being part of a worshiping congregation means we are Christ’s disciples in this time and place. And here we are being renewed and re-formed as we try to follow him: by taking his words to heart, by emulating his example, and by letting him walk beside us on our faith journey.

For you and I are each part of a diverse ministry team. We don’t idolize our pastors and put them up on a pedestal, for they don’t hide their humanity from us. Instead, graciously and with vulnerability, they are continually delegating to us parts of the task of touching people’s lives in ways that are compassionate and healing.

In case you wonder what difference we can make, let me tell you one more story: All through the Great Depression, Westminster was led by a pastor named Perry Hopper. He served longer here than any pastor except Jim Moiso. In 1932 an out-of-state student attending the University of Oregon Medical School began worshiping here. He had been raised in a devout Methodist family, but as he sat here in these pews he was inspired by Perry Hopper’s preaching, felt welcomed by fellow worshipers, was uplifted by the music, and was filled with awe by the stained-glass windows. On a Sunday in October he was received as a member, and he faithfully participated until his graduation as a new physician and his return to his hometown.

Who would have guessed that exactly twelve years after that October Sunday, this doctor was to become my father? His commitment to Jesus Christ and to the Presbyterian church had a profound influence on our family and on countless people’s lives. So I can testify that what we do here as a congregation and our response to Christ’s summons does make a difference.

May all of us embrace the discipleship to which we have been called.

Final verse from “The Summons”

 Lord, your summons echoes true when you but call my name.

Let me turn and follow you and never be the same.

In your company I’ll go where your love and footsteps show.

Thus I’ll move and live and grown in you and you in me.