2018-01-22
Brooke Strong
Scripture: Mark 1:14-20
Community
Shortly after Mary and I arrived here in Chagrin Falls, we went to hear the famed choir of Minnesota’s St. Olaf College sing at Severance Hall. And what I remember so vividly was that they sang every piece from memory, and as they sang, they held hands. To see them swaying together as one body as they sang “Beautiful Savior,” or “Fairest Lord Jesus,” was riveting and deeply moving. They were clearly one.
When we reflect on what holds us as a church together and gives us life, one of our four great pillars is community. For the church to be the church, it worships God, it grows in faith, it serves a wider world, and, as a core part of its identity, it continuously becomes community.
Community sounds easy, doesn’t it? Just row in the same direction. Become one. Join together in a common mission. Care for each other. Make the whole larger than any one part. What could be easier?
And yet it isn’t easy, is it? It’s fair to say, I think, that the most distinctive feature of our culture at the present moment is a profound absence of community, a deep sense of discord and animosity. Politics, race, gender, religion, class: all of it is a veritable boxing ring of enmity and division. Not long ago, on my morning walk, I watched as a man drove into his neighbor’s driveway, got out of his car, and started arguing with the homeowner about a political sign on the homeowner’s lawn, talking loudly, pointing theatrically, lecturing accusatorily. Community? Hardly.
Discord can strike in our families, as well. Not too long ago, Mary and I got into a fight about something—I can’t even remember what. We were both pretty exercised about it, and the temperature started rising. And finally Mary yelled at me, “Shut up!” Can you believe she said that to me! I, on the other hand, took the high road and was infinitely more mature, and I said right back to her, “No, you shut up!” I guess I told her! Community? It can be an elusive challenge, even in the best of circumstances.
Unity is what’s at the root of community. Community means literally “with unity.” Call to mind someone with whom you vehemently disagree or who has betrayed you or who just makes you want to pull your hair out. In what sense are you in unity with that person? Worship? I can do that alone. Faith formation? I can do on my own. Service? I can engage in that by myself. But community? I have to do that with others. And that can be a real challenge.
Maybe you know the old saw, “Church would be fine if it weren’t for the people.” Or as Reinhold Niebuhr, the great theologian of the last century, was once reputed to have said, “The church is a lot like Noah’s ark. If it weren’t for the storm outside, you couldn’t stand the stench inside.”
And yet, in whatever church we find ourselves, the people with whom we gather are the ones with whom we are to form community. As much as we might pine for it, there is no such thing as the perfect church, the pure community, somewhere else. The incisive pastor and commentator, Nadia Bolz-Weber, says she tells every group who is about to join her Denver church that they will inevitably find flaws with the church. As excited and positive as they are when they join, they will invariably become disappointed with some aspect of the church as time goes on. Never think any church is immune to such disappointment. So what Bolz-Weber says to every new member class is this: decide right now that you are going to stick out when that disillusioning time comes. Know that friction and disheartenment will happen, and commit anyway. Because, not unlike in a marriage, sticking it out through the inevitable disappointment is what makes for true community.
As Mark tells the story of Jesus, there’s an abruptness about the tale itself and the events it recounts. No beautiful birth story here. Instead, the start of Mark’s gospel announces “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Child of God.” Then in quick succession, we hear the story of John the Baptist announcing the coming Messiah, the arrival of Jesus, his baptism, and then his immediately ensuing temptation. All of this is recorded in thirteen short verses.
And then immediately, Jesus calls four people to follow him. First Simon and his brother Andrew, then James and his brother John—all people who fish for a living—are beckoned by Jesus to come along for the ride of a lifetime: “Immediately he called them; and they left their father . . . in the boat with the hired help, and followed Jesus” (1:20).
And what’s so striking here is that Jesus chooses not to walk his road alone. He chooses company. He wants others to join him on the journey. You might think that this savior of humankind would be totally self-sufficient and just go about his business by himself. Why would the messiah, the uniquely anointed messenger of God, need anybody else to help accomplish his work? You know from the get-go that nobody is going to be up to his standards. Who could be? And yet, as inadequate as they must certainly be, Jesus wants them to come along.
It’s not just one person he wants to come along, either, a sort of Robin to his Batman, a Watson to his Holmes. No, he eventually picks twelve people to walk with him the dusty, challenging, thwarting roads of Galilee and eventually Jerusalem.
And it’s not as though these are the twelve greatest people in history, either, as though Jesus is going to populate his group only with people of impeccable credentials, people who won’t let him down. No, this is the same group that will disappointment him bitterly—you may remember he later says to Peter, who is terribly misguided, “Get behind me, Satan” (8:33). These disciples will betray him (14:10-21), deny him (14:66-72), and fall asleep in his hour of greatest need (14:37). They’re hardly perfect friends and confidantes. In fact, they can be pretty dismal.
But Jesus, the embodiment of God’s good news, the Child of God, the beloved with whom God is astoundingly pleased—this same Jesus nonetheless wants these flawed and damaged people to walk with him on his journey. Why? Not—certainly—because they have abilities he doesn’t have, but because there is no such thing as the Jesus way without them. Only in community—defective, blemished, imperfect community—does the blessing of God take root and flower. Community is about sharing life. It’s about mutual support. It’s about a common mission and purpose.
I went to a conference with UCC clergy colleagues the week before last. One of the presenters pointed out that there was a time in our not-too-distant past when we could establish community even among people who were very different, people who disagreed about significant issues. And part of what let community flourish in that earlier era was that people who were very different from each other would stand shoulder to shoulder and dive together into work that matters. That sort of shared endeavor seems to happen noticeably less now. The challenge in this climate is to join together across divisions to let something beautiful and good happen. It’s to build community together.
So picture the community of Christ. It’s populated by friends, isn’t it? I’m struck by our daughter-in-law Cynthia’s family, who live in Columbus very near Alex and Cynthia. Cynthia and her parents and siblings have been part of a Lutheran church there for longer than she can remember. It is not only where she and her sister and brother were baptized. It is not only where they sing and make music and hear scripture read and proclaimed. It is not only where they find an outlet to serve a larger world. But this church is also the place where they have made their closest friends. Every Sunday after church, the Liefelds go to lunch with four or five families from the church. Down to Wendy’s they troop, children and parents and grandparents, to while away an hour or two. They have walked together through births and weddings and significant medical challenges and deaths. When Cynthia and our Alex were married, a good part of the wedding guest list were the members of this group, the so-called “lunch bunch.” This is the community of Christ—friendship nurtured intentionally over years together.
Sometimes being community invites us to do something we might rather not do. Let me again give a shout-out to Cynthia’s parents here. This past fall, as Cynthia and Alex were making plans for which family to be with for Thanksgiving and Christmas, Cynthia’s parents said to them, “Go be with Alex’s parents for both holidays. We get to see you all the time. They don’t.” This is the community of Christ—seeing things from somebody else’s angle, and sacrificing for them.
Today we present Federated’s Christmas Eve offering to Hiram Farm. Hiram Farm, as you probably already know and as you have just heard, is a place where people with developmental disabilities are accompanied on their journey. They farm together and find a home together. It’s a place that provides inspiration and meaningful work. It offers an opportunity to grow, learn, work and live in a setting that’s focused on respect and support (http://www.hiramfarm.org/about/mission/). This is the community of Christ—joining in ministry where there is need.
Part of the problem with building community is that it asks something of us, doesn’t it. Sometimes we romanticize community. We think how nice and sweet and sentimental it is. And it can certainly be that. In Mark’s story of Jesus, though, the ones who become disciples leave what’s homey and familiar, they leave their safe harbors, to go on a strange and mysterious journey with someone they’ve only just met. It’s a journey of sacrifice, a journey, in truth, that asks their all.
Not infrequently, committing to the community of Christ asks us to stretch ourselves in ways that may not at first seem comfortable. Here at Federated, this may mean taking on a role as an Angel Visitor who voluntarily visits with someone who’s going through a hard time. It may entail serving meals at St. Paul’s Community Church and being around people who may make us uncomfortable. It may mean—and I think of this is terms of Federated’s upcoming annual meeting—taking a leap into a new and more gracious financial giving level, a level that pushes us more, a level that more fully supports the missions and ministry of this fantastic church. Committing to Christ’s work may stretch us in new ways, and make for a richer connection to the source of our blessings. This is the community of Christ—getting out of our comfort zones and serving in a way that makes a difference.
In many ways, fulfilling our role in the community of Christ invites us to be present where presence is not easy. This, after all, is who and what Jesus is. “Patrick . . . McLaughlin is a tall, affable Lutheran chaplain who served in Anbar Province in the Iraq war. His toughest job was caring for children who were brought into the combat hospital, which served combatants and civilians alike. When children were dying and there was nothing more the doctors could do besides administer morphine, McLaughlin would take the children into his arms and rock them until they died. At first he’d do this standing. Then he asked the military engineers to make rocking chairs. He would hold and rock the children until they had breathed their last breath” (Christian Century, Jan. 17, 2018, p. 8). This, too, is the community of Christ, a parable of love and devotion that is at the heart of Christ’s church.
Ultimately, to be part of the community of Christ is to accompany each other in life and in death, and in so doing, to join the risen Christ in a marvel of grace. To be part of the community of Christ means holding hands and singing together even when we’re on the opposite side of every issue. It means extending ourselves for the sake of each other. It means committing to support the church and its ministries. Why? Because God is here and not only is something offered to us in this place, but something is asked of us, as well. And the deepest truth is this: this community of Christ is at the heart of God’s blessings. So may we give ourselves to it our whole lives.