What's
the plan? A question I have been asked a
few times here at Ascension. A question
that some of you probably have in your heads to ask me in our conversation
after Service.
What's
the plan? In the Church over the past 30
years, our anxiety about survival in the future has grown and grown. It is
amusing to me that as our anxiety grows we get more and more enamored of
plans. It has gotten near to
idolatry.
An example of what I mean: Like Ascension, St. Luke & St. Simon
Cyrene has been the recent recipient of diocesan aid and, also like Ascension, we made
a presentation to a committee of Diocesan Council earlier this year as part of
a new process to receive that aid.
We were
blessed to be able to report that things are going well at Two Saints in most
areas of our life. We are doing the work we are called to do, taking risks,
thinking outside the box, all those things we are supposed to be doing, and we
were able to ask for less money for next year than we received this year.
We were
approved and got glowing comments about our progress, and gratitude that we are
almost off aid from the diocese. Then
came the last paragraph. It said, “It
concerns us that you do not have a plan.”
Now it
is not that we do not have a plan or a vision. We do. But we believe it is actually Gospel to
believe the old saying, “Life is what happens when you are making plans.” What we are best at is living through and
making the best of both the opportunities and the bumps in the road, neither of which can be planned.
But we
are told we must have plans, so let’s check in with the Scriptures this morning
about making them.
The
Teacher of Ecclesiastes would no doubt tell us that plans are vane things,
futile things. And he is right. If “plan” means to us a way to control the
future, the Teacher has a bridge in Bethlehem to sell us. The Teacher is the great cynic of the Bible
and let’s give him his due, and not be afraid of the cynics around us or within
us. Now, of course, sometimes our
cynicism turns into just plain grumpiness and contrariness and we are not much
fun to have around. But, we need a
certain amount of cynicism lest we start worshiping our plans, overestimating
our control of the future (or even the present, for that matter).
The author
of psalm 49 is the “you can’t take it with you” psalmist, reminding us that
living as if we will live forever and ever is delusional. We all end up in the grave. And with that cheery sentiment, St. Paul
takes over and delivers what he says is good news but smells rather strongly of
bad:
If you have
been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is,
seated at the right hand of God. Set
your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you
have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.
You are
dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. That’s the good news this morning. Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh.
What is
Paul getting at? He’s using the language
of Baptism: being dead and being
raised. It has carried through the
centuries to our current liturgy. In the
Thanksgiving over the water at a Baptism, we say
We thank you,
Father, for the water of Baptism. In it
we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection… (p.
306)
To be
dead is to be raised with Christ, “hidden in Christ,” Paul says. Let me suggest that to be dead is also,
paradoxically, to be free. Free from
everything in this world that can bind us, and, if you haven’t noticed, that is
a lot of things, more things than not.
It is primarily about identity, who we are and whose we are. If we are bound to Christ than we have no
need to be bound to anything else on this earth. Instead, we can live Christ’s life, dependent
only on him for our sense of self and the day by day taking of our rightful
place on the earth.
And
that means that we can concentrate our energy—our spiritual energy and our physical
energy and our psychic energy, even our relational energy—into loving our
neighbors as ourselves, respecting the dignity of every human being and doing
justice and peace in the world. We can
do those things because we don’t have to spend our energy trying to define ourselves,
take control of our lives, and build barns to store riches we will never need
or walls that will protect us but also rob us of our chance to live a
compassionate life with people who differ from us.
So the
question here is, in a sense, “Do we want to be dead in Christ or alive in ourselves? How do we want to spend our energy? Can we trust Jesus enough that if we let go
of everything, the energy that comes from living ‘hidden’ in him will make us
more alive than we ever thought we could be?
Let me
apply this to this parish, or any parish for that matter. I know you are afraid that Ascension may be
on a long, slow road to death. And if
you are paying attention, you may be also afraid that the same is happening to
our entire beloved Episcopal Church. I
hear predictions from very smart and sane people that the Episcopal Church has
20-30 years left and there will only be a handful of parishes in each diocese.
Most of us are going to die.
It is
very sad what is happening to our church.
Very, very sad, and, it just might be what will save us. If Paul is right, we are dead already. And when he says, “You are dead,” the “you”
is plural, so he is speaking to the church.
So what
does it mean for a church to be dead in the sense of St. Paul? I think it means this, the complete and
absolute conviction that
This church
does not belong to us.
Now if
you think about it, that statement is not all that radical since when we talk
about stewardship we often say that nothing belongs to us. But nevertheless we frequently act as if the
church does. But it does not, and I’m
going to leave you with three radical implications of this truth.
First
of all, that this church does not belong to you means that it is not your
primary job to protect and preserve it.
It is your job to find every way you can to share it and even give it
away. Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said,
“The Church is the Church only when it exists for others.”[1]
Which
brings me to number two: That means
every stranger who walks into this building has just as much right to be here
as any of you whose families have been here for generations. They may have built this church, but if they
built it rightly they built it not for themselves but for the glory of God and
the benefit of anyone who would seek Christ here.
Third
of all, the principal work of the church is hospitality. I have brought some signs with me. This little slogan has changed the life of
Two Saints over the last eight years:
“Hospitality is Job One.” Everything
you do. Every aspect of your building, your grounds, how you present yourself
to the world, who you are as the body of Christ has to do with hospitality for
the stranger. Every church in the world
thinks it is a friendly church. My
question is, is it hospitable?
So do
you want to know my advice for a plan to go forward? Die.
This church does not belong to you.
Hide your life, your hopes and dreams and fears and cynicism about the
future of this place in Christ. The
issue before you is not survival. It is
hospitality.
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