Compelled

Sermon

This year for Christmas, my friend Stephanie gave me a cookbook that has revolutionized dinner time for us. Already I have made eight recipes, some for the third time, and the entire family is very happy. The slow-roasted Moroccan salmon was the best salmon I have ever made, and our new favorite pizza is this unlikely combination of apple butter, shallots, mozzarella, cheddar, butternut squash, prosciutto, blue cheese, honey, thyme, and sage. Seriously delicious. As I happily anticipate cutting back my work hours, and with this cookbook in hand, I expect many more happy meals and contented diners around our table.

What are you excited about right now? What new thing has entered your life that you’re telling everyone about? What is revolutionizing something in your life? Maybe it’s a new cookbook. Maybe it’s a new workout. Maybe it’s a book or podcast.

But is it Jesus?

There is an elephant in the room for so many of us mainline Protestant, progressive-type Christians, and his name is Jesus. We get fired up about so many things – cookbooks, workouts, racial justice, worship music, climate change – and rightly so. But I often wonder, for me and for you, if we are fired up enough about Jesus. You might be squirming a little right now, and trust me, I get it.

For me, and maybe for some of you, talking about being fired up for Jesus falls into the same category as being able to pinpoint the date I was saved and asking if I have accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior. My faith doesn’t work that way. That’s the way those “other Christians” talk, about a personal relationship with Jesus, about the way, the truth, the life, about a God who is watching and who will decide if you go to Heaven or Hell when you die. And that’s pretty judgmental of me, to discount another person’s faith.

I can argue for that sort of judgment. There are members of our Christian family who still believe that LGBTQ people are damned, when they are as beloved and blessed as any of us. There are members of our Christian family who still believe that women have no place in church leadership, much less the pulpit. I am grateful that this congregation and our denomination decried that thought years ago. I don’t want to be lumped in with that kind of exclusion and hate. I assume I know what kind of Christian a person is by how they talk about Jesus.

And yet in my heart of hearts, when I’m having if not a dark night of the soul then a dim night, I wish I were a little more excited about Jesus, that I felt a tug on my heart whenever his name was mentioned. I wish I were compelled by him.

That’s what I noticed in today’s scripture: some intangible, compelling thing about this Jesus guy that made Simon Peter drop his fish-laden nets to follow him. What was it? If we could name it, could we get fired up about Jesus? If Luke or John (who also tells this story) had written down what it was about Jesus that got those fishermen and tax collectors and Zealots and others to follow him, would we cling to that quality and claim it for ourselves?

As Luke tells it, by the time we get to the fifth chapter, Simon Peter had already met Jesus. In chapter four, Jesus goes to Simon Peter’s house and heals his ailing mother-in-law. Simon Peter knew Jesus as a teacher and a healer. So why on this day, after a frustrating and fruitless night of fishing, do things change? What makes Simon now see Jesus as a Lord to follow, to be worthy of, to drop everything for?

Luke is silent on the matter, as is Simon Peter. Then again, maybe this is a core part of our faith – figuring out if Jesus is compelling, and if so, why.

For many here at Westminster, and at so many other congregations, the draw is not Jesus. It’s the community, the people, or it’s the music, or the commitment to care for those who live on the margins. It’s habit, it’s obligation, it’s expectation. I wonder if the draw of church can be any or all of those things plus Jesus.

The truth is, our Westminster community wouldn’t be here if not for Jesus, and our choir and musicians would not offer their songs if it weren’t for Jesus. But in our effort to live out our faith, have we forgotten the center of the faith?

The late Elie Wiesel tells this story:

“When the great Rabbi Israel Ba’al Shem-Tov saw misfortune threatening the Jews, it was his custom to go into a certain part of the forest to meditate. There he would light the fire, say a special prayer, and the miracle would be accomplished and the misfortune averted.

“Years later when a disciple of the Ba’al Shem-Tov, the celebrated Magid of Mezritch, had occasion for the same reason, to intercede with heaven, he would go to the same place in the forest and say: ‘Master of the Universe, listen! I do not know how to light the fire, but I am still able to say the prayer,’ and again the miracle would be accomplished.

“Still later, another rabbi, Rabbi Moshe-leib of Sasov, in order to save his people once more, would go into the forest and say, ‘I do not know how to light the fire. I do not know the prayer, but I know the place and this must be sufficient.’ It was sufficient and the miracle was accomplished.

“The years passed. And it fell to Rabbi Israel of Ryzhyn to overcome misfortune. Sitting in his armchair, his head in his hands, he spoke to God: ‘I am unable to light the fire, and I do not know the prayer, and I cannot even find the place in the forest. All I can do is tell the story, and this must be sufficient.’ And it was sufficient.” (from The Gates of the Forest)

In several of the past few sermons, and in other conversations, we pastors have noted some laments about our Westminster community – we wish we had a more diverse congregation; we wish we had more young families. And in recent past sermons and other conversations, we have asked the question: why? Why do we want those things? To maintain the institution? To feel better about ourselves?

I think that maybe one of the reasons we want those things is because we have found something good here at Westminster and we want to share it. So many have found gracious community, friendship and forgiveness and care; so many have found beauty that stirs the souls, anthems and piano suites and paintings and crayon drawings. So many have found meaningful ways to spend their time here, taking food donations to Northeast Emergency Food Program and Mainspring, reading books that challenge and confront, quilting blankets for children in foster care.

When you experience something wonderful, be it a cookbook or a congregation, you want to share it. And we can go a step further.

The late filmmaker and documentarian Toni Cade Bambara said, “The role of the artist is to make the revolution irresistible.” I think that’s what Jesus was about – making this revolution of love, grace, and forgiveness irresistible. And we have a part in that.

But more importantly, Jesus has a big part in that. Every revolution needs a leader, and we don’t need to look for one; he’s been around 2,000 years. And some still find him compelling enough to drop their proverbial nets and follow him. Some still let go of all the lures and temptations of the world – wealth, fame, and power – and choose to throw their hats in the ring with the son of a carpenter from a tiny corner of the Roman Empire.

In his book The Jesus I Never Knew, author Philip Yancey talks about all of this. He writes, “Why am I a Christian? I sometimes ask myself, and to be perfectly honest the reasons reduce to two: (1) the lack of good alternatives, and (2) Jesus. Brilliant, untamed, tender, creative, slippery, irreducible, paradoxically humble – Jesus stands up to scrutiny. He is who I want my God to be.

“…For me, Jesus has become the focal point. When I speculate about such imponderables as the problem of pain or providence versus free will, everything becomes fuzzy. But if I look at Jesus himself, at how he treated actual people in pain, at his calls to free and diligent action, clarity is restored.” (p. 265)

That is who is at the heart of the love revolution and the heart of Westminster – this rabbi. And maybe you are compelled by his teaching. Or his courage. Or his devotion to God. Or the way he included everyone. And maybe you’re still working that out. That’s okay.

One of the reasons I became a pastor almost thirty years ago is because I found something good at church, and because I was introduced to this Jesus guy at church. I’ve been trying to figure him out ever since, and I’m not there yet. But I am so in for a world that has more grace and more forgiveness and more love, a world with more justice and more generosity and more kindness. Church is the place where I learn how to work on that stuff with other marvelous people. So yes, I want more people to know this. Do you?