2018-09-10
Brooke Strong
Scripture: James 2:1-10, 14-17; Phoenix Affirmations I
Once upon a time, an unnamed church was in the middle of worship one Sunday morning. This was a fine church, a church with lots going on, and a gorgeous facility, and a sanctuary filled with respectable and upright people. That day, right in the middle of the sermon, at a particularly quiet, intense moment, the doors of the church suddenly swung open. And in walked a disheveled young man. He was unkempt, with dirty hair, ill-fitting and ripped clothes, and an unpleasant odor.
That same morning, at the proper time, before worship began, a young couple showed up, as well, for the first time. They had arrived in a new BMW, were dressed with casual elegance, and had two adorable little children in tow.
And which of these did the membership committee chair rush up to after worship? Whom did pastor and congregants approach with eager handshakes and hearty smiles? To whom did the church office send a note that week, inviting a return visit the next week?
It doesn’t take much to know the answer to these questions. It’s so easy to justify paying attention to the attractive young family, isn’t it? We need young families so we can grow. The parents are likely to be able to serve in church leadership. Their very attractiveness will attract others. Their kids will help fill the Sunday School. What could be wrong with wanting able, affluent young families to join the church?
And of course there is nothing wrong with paying lots of attention to the new young family. They deserve it. They’ll be strong additions to the community. They may well pledge a full tithe, 10% of their income, to shore up the budget. What’s not to like? Of course we’ll pay attention to them.
And indeed that is perfectly appropriate. We want the community to grow and thrive. We want it to be filled with gifted, committed people. We remember that Jesus told us to go make disciples (Matthew 28:19). Letting this family languish would be the height of stupidity. We would have failed Jesus. So, for many and varied reasons, we would likely pursue the family and make sure they knew how glad we were to see them there, and how much we hoped they would come back.
And that’s all fine and good. Nothing wrong with any of it. Unless we forget the disheveled young man who also came for the first time that day. Unless we don’t treat him exactly as we treat the appealing young family. Unless, in truth, we forget that he, too, deserves the boundless love of God and the church. The letter of James, which we’re going to focus on over the next few weeks, makes it abundantly clear that favoritism is a terrible violation of the spirit of Jesus. To show partiality is to bastardize the gospel.
It’s so easy to welcome someone who’s like us, isn’t it, or someone we respect or want to be like. We may admire them, or laugh about the same things, or share political views. We may together be Tyrod-Taylor-rooting, Ben-Roethlisberger-taunting Browns fans, or admirers of the recently deceased Aretha Franklin or John McCain. How cool to connect with someone who also knits or who also went to John Carroll University or who is also an Eagle Scout. These people are fun. They’re easy to be around.
What’s not so easy is to approach someone who may have values we despise, who wears the whiff of failure, who may embarrass us. How tempting it is to just turn away, to pretend we don’t see them, to make little or no effort to get to know them. “Oh, we don’t have anything in common anyway. Plus, I’ve got to see my friend Jim or Carol about Tuesday’s meeting—there’s a lot we’ve got to plan.” We make a judgment about people who are poor, or of different social habits, or of a different race or ethnic background. And we don’t bring them into our circle.
“If a [person] enters your church wearing an expensive suit,” says the letter of James, “and a street person wearing rags comes in right after . . ., and you say to the [one] in the suit, ‘Sit here . . .; this is the best seat in the house!’ and either ignore the street person or say, ‘Better sit here in the back row,’ haven’t you segregated God’s children and proved that you are judges who can’t be trusted? Listen, dear friends. Isn’t it clear by now that God operates quite differently? [God] chose the world’s down-and-out as the [holy dominion’s] first citizens, with full rights and privileges. This [realm] is promised to anyone who loves God” (James 2:2-5, The Message).
My suspicion is that none of us has escaped playing such favorites. In the first church I served, when I was a young minister, a woman came up to me during coffee hour one Sunday morning, and she said, without an edge, without rancor, “I’ve noticed that you talk mostly to the same people after church every Sunday. Maybe you could expand your circle a bit.” And much as I wished it weren’t true, I had to admit she was right. I did gravitate to the same people each Sunday. So I was reminded by that woman of the gospel: I needed to be treating everyone equally.
I suspect a lot of this sort of partiality just flies under the radar. We don’t even notice it most of the time. We gravitate to people who are of a similar age. We live in towns of people who largely look and act like we do. We find churches of generally like-minded people. We talk to the same people at Coffee Hour, we avoid some people on the street, and in ways we hardly know, we remain complicit with political and economic systems that benefit us while keeping others in their place. The letter of James knows too well that we all fall into these traps.
And the idea is not just to sit around and feel guilty. That would be useless and silly. No, the idea is to drink in what the letter calls the Royal Rule of the Scriptures: “Love others as you love yourself” (James 2:8). What makes this rule royal is that it’s the greatest of all laws. It’s the law we’re going to immerse ourselves in over the next few weeks. It’s the law that’s at the heart of what are called the Phoenix Affirmations.
The Phoenix Affirmations were developed, unsurprisingly, in Arizona’s capital city by a group of scholars, ministers, and church leaders. These leaders were struck by the fact that often, in the news, when Christian voices were sought for their opinions on major world developments, there was a position advocated that didn’t jibe at all with their take on the world and on the faith. Certain prominent Christians would be approached for their observations about significant events in the world, and would comment from a position that seemed, to these Phoenix church people, largely graceless and narrow.
My friend and colleague, Eric Elnes, then a Phoenix pastor himself, and now pastor of a UCC church in Omaha, NE, was integral in the development of these affirmations. As he puts it, a woman in his church came to him one day and told him she was embarrassed to be a Christian because the views espoused by so many Christians seemed so unChrist-like to her. She found herself again and again saying, “I’m a Christian, but.” “I’m tired of having always to qualify the word Christian when I tell people I’m going to church,” she said. “I might as well say I’m radioactive.” She went on to say, “Why should I have to explain to people, ‘I’m a Christian, but I don’t think [LGBTQ people] are evil. . . . I’m a Christian, but I believe women are equal to men. . . . [I’m a Christian] but I’m concerned about poverty. . . . [I’m a Christian] but I care about the earth. . . . [I’m a Christian] but I don’t think people who believe differently from me will fry in hell for eternity’? [Why should I have to explain these things, she asked.] (The Phoenix Affirmations: A New Vision for the Future of Christianity, p. xiv). She shouldn’t have to apologize for being Christian. She shouldn’t have to acquiesce to what is often a small-minded literalism and pinched morality in large swaths of the contemporary church. For her, and I dare say for us, such narrowness and judgmentalism are a terrible distortion of who Jesus was and is.
Jesus’ vision for the world is incredibly simple and incredibly radical. It is rooted in love: love of God, love of neighbor, love of self. If we want to know what’s needed in any situation, any encounter, the answer is always love. That doesn’t mean we always know exactly what steps to pursue or how to proceed. Life is complex, and there’s no FAQ sheet of specific answers to the infinite variety of dilemmas we face as we seek direction, and fidelity to the way of Jesus. There is only that gnawing and brilliant guidance that properly shapes every moment of life: love God, and love your neighbor as yourself. Everything comes back to that. That is both the spine and the heart of every crisis and opportunity: love God, love neighbors, love self. That’s it. And that’s enough.
We embark today on a new program year. Excitement is in the air (along with the rain). Donuts and caricatures and a bounce house and bubbles await. There will be limitless opportunities in the months ahead to worship, to grow, to connect, and to serve—the four pillars of our church life. We will face trials together. We will encounter losses we hadn’t anticipated, challenges that may feel daunting, opportunities of which we had never dreamt. We may feel lost. We may feel alone. We may seethe at some institutional change or personal snub.
And yet, here we are animated by a love so deep, so high, so broad that we will not only survive, we will thrive. The theme for our church year is “Behold how they love one another.” And in these opening weeks of the program year, we will let ourselves be shaped by those wonderful words of scripture, the command to live by the law of love.
Once upon a time, in an unnamed church, an unkempt young man walked into the sanctuary at a particularly intense moment in the sermon. Everything stopped. All eyes turned to stare at him as he walked slowly down the center aisle. Not having found a seat to take, he finally settled at the front of the church. He sat noisily down on the floor at the feet of those in the first pew. You could hear a pin drop.
At the back of the church, there sat a wise old elder of the church, a woman highly esteemed by everyone. She knew what proper behavior was in a church. She knew the rules and the ways of that church. Slowly she went down that center aisle, leaning on her cane, marching intently to where the disruptive young man was sitting. “Just watch what the grande dame does now,” they all thought, “just watch how she restores order.” And indeed she did. When she got to where the young man sat, she leaned over and handed him a bulletin, and she sat down next to him on the floor so they could worship together. “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” No partiality. And it was so.