Two or Three or Twelve

Sermon

What a dreary, drippy week it’s been. I can only imagine what it’s been like for those who had trees fall on their houses, or who lost power for days on end, or who had no shelter but a tent. So I am grateful that we are able to livestream today, and I hope that you are ensconced in a warm and dry home.

Because it’s been such a dreary week, I was also grateful for the opportunity to imagine Jesus walking on sunshine along the shores of the balmy Galilee, letting the waves wash over his feet, lifting his face to the sky in thanks. Of course, for all we know it was cold and overcast that day when Jesus called his disciples.

I have preached on this story several times and briefly considered pulling out an old sermon so that I could take a nap, but something new struck me this time around. And I’ll get to that in just a minute.

But first, a brief diversion. This fall Gregg and I availed ourselves of a TV hit from twenty years ago. For a few weeks, after dinner and dishes, we treated ourselves to an episode of the HBO series, “Band of Brothers,” based on the novel of the same name by Stephen Ambrose. It tells the story of “Easy” Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division during the training in England and then their fighting in western Europe during the Second World War. We appreciated the performances and the screenplay and the sets, but more than that, we were so moved by the relationship among these men, from all sorts of backgrounds, through the horrors of war and sieges and death. They made it through the war, most of them, in varying states of post-traumatic stress, largely because they learned they could rely on each other, and because they had strong, brave leaders.

Though it’s been a few months since we watched the show, this week’s reading about the call of the disciples brought to mind the Band of Brothers. And here’s the thing that occurred to me that never had before, but you had probably already thought of it.

Jesus doesn’t call us in isolation, saying, “You, follow me,” and then to another person, “You, follow me,” and to another, “You, follow me.” What he said, to fisherman brothers who would be joined by a tax collector and a zealot and others, was, “Y’all – all y’all – follow me.”

We are never called in isolation. We are always called to community. And that is a blessing, and that is hard.

What’s hard about being called to community is when you feel like you don’t belong. Sometimes it’s about “imposter syndrome,” that feeling that you’re a fraud or a phony, that someone invited you to be a part of something—a school, a team, a choir—without knowing that you don’t really have the chops to be there. For the most part, I had imposter syndrome all four years of college. Happily, I was not the only one—but I only learned that recently.

Sometimes what’s hard about being called to community is the feeling like you’re swimming one way when everyone else is going the other direction. I’ve heard that from people here at Westminster, whether it’s about supporting a political candidate that “everyone else” thinks is awful or holding an opinion about something in the news that is not popular or politically correct.
And sometimes what’s hard about being in community is the sense that while you were invited, it was without the inviter knowing who you were, because if they did, they would disinvite you.

I once served a church that struggled with what it meant to be community. They were thriving, numbers-wise; they had wonderful programs and volunteers to staff them; worship was joyous and heartfelt. Anyway, there was man who had grown up in the church, who returned as an adult with his husband and their two adopted children. The session debated—the session actually debated—whether they should allow for the baptism of the children of a gay couple. The other pastor had a strong leadership style, and he said of course they would baptize those children. But some members of the congregation were incensed. I can’t imagine how those two fathers felt. They thought it was their community, but…

People of color have had similar experiences here at Westminster. Their name is on the roll, but they get the side eye, get the whitesplaining, are “othered” by members of their church band of brothers and sisters.

Community can be hard, especially when we are being honest about who we are and what we think and how we believe all this God-Jesus-Spirit-Bible stuff. And Jesus calls us to a community of disciples. And that is a beautiful thing.

You may be aware that there’s a conversation going on not only in church culture but in the wider social circle in the U.S. about the decline of churches. And so a recent article in The Atlantic caught my eye. It’s titled “The Misunderstood Reason Millions of Americans Stopped Going to Church” and author Jake Meador writes:

“What is more needed in our time than a community marked by sincere love, sharing what they have from each according to their ability and to each according to their need, eating together regularly, generously serving neighbors, and living lives of quiet virtue and prayer? A healthy church can be a safety net in the harsh American economy by offering its members material assistance in times of need: meals after a baby is born, money for rent after a layoff. Perhaps more important, it reminds people that their identity is not in their job or how much money they make; they are children of God, loved and protected and infinitely valuable.”

How can our band of brothers, sisters, siblings, live out our communal identity as loved, protected, and infinitely valuable children of God?

I think we’ve made a good start. Some Mariners groups are still going strong after decades, and those people have shared significant history with each other. Other Mariners groups have retired from active duty, as it were, but the bond of friendship remains. People meet on retreats and then continue to meet. Choirs and bell choirs and Taizé singers practice, but between numbers, or while robing or getting the bells out, hear about each other’s weeks. Artists gather in the art studio, encouraging each other. Book groups pop up as do other small groups like Taste and See. You might not believe this, but people even bond while serving on Session with each other.

Because of your generosity, we are able to help out members and folks in the larger community with things like rent, and medical bills, and meals when sick or recovering from surgery. So I’m not sure we need to do anything more. But I do wonder if we need to go deeper.

A member of the church forwarded the pastors a really amazing article about a 2,000-year-old custom that brings together the whole and the broken, and acknowledges all the truth in that. The author, Rabbi Sharon Brous, writes:

“Buried deep within the Mishnah, a Jewish legal compendium from around the third century, is an ancient practice reflecting a deep understanding of the human psyche and spirit: When your heart is broken, when the specter of death visits your family, when you feel lost and alone and inclined to retreat, you show up. You entrust your pain to the community.

“The text… describes a pilgrimage ritual from the time of the Second Temple. Several times each year, hundreds of thousands of Jews would ascend to Jerusalem, the center of Jewish religious and political life. They would climb the steps of the Temple Mount and enter its enormous plaza, turning to the right en masse, circling counterclockwise.

“Meanwhile, the brokenhearted, the mourners (and here I would also include the lonely and the sick), would make this same ritual walk but they would turn to the left and circle in the opposite direction: every step against the current.

“And each person who encountered someone in pain would look into their eyes and inquire: ‘What happened to you? Why does your heart ache?’ ‘My father died,’ a person might say. ‘There are so many things I never got to say to him.’ Or perhaps: ‘My partner left. I was completely blindsided.’ Or: ‘My child is sick. We’re awaiting the test results.’

“Those who walked from the right would offer a blessing: ‘May the Holy One comfort you,’ they would say. ‘You are not alone.’ And then they would continue to walk until the next person approached.

“I read in this text many profound lessons… when so many of us feel that we are breaking. First, do not take your broken heart and go home. Don’t isolate. Step toward those whom you know will hold you tenderly. And on your good days—the days when you can breathe—show up then, too.

“Showing up for one another doesn’t require heroic gestures. It means training ourselves to approach, even when our instinct tells us to withdraw. It means picking up the phone and calling our friend or colleague who is suffering. It means going to the funeral and to the house of mourning. It also means going to the wedding and to the birthday dinner. Reach out in your strength, step forward in your vulnerability. Err on the side of presence.” (excerpted from Rabbi Sharon Brous, “Train Yourself to Always Show Up”, Jan. 19, 2024, https://www.nytimes.com/2024/01/19/opinion/religion-ancient-text-judaism.html?smid=nytcore-ios-share&referringSource

We are called to community, and that means showing up for each other. We are called by Jesus to the community of faith. And his call to you and me is just as direct as his call to Peter and Andrew and James and John. And whether we are two or three or twelve or two hundred, we are called to walk with Jesus together. And sometimes we will get it right, and the baby basket and lasagna will show up at just the right time.

And sometimes we will get it wrong, and our deep-rooted tribal instincts will kick in and we’ll regard the person with the unpopular opinion with distrust; we’ll notice how different someone else is from us and we will assume we are better. And the community fabric will fray a bit.

And sometimes we will be brave enough to be vulnerable, to admit our unbelief, to confess our hurt, and we will walk in circle around each other, sharing our pain, sharing our blessing. And even though we are walking in circles, we are still following Him.