Some thoughts on GA
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(Disguised as a sermon.)
No Day But Today
June 25, 2006
2 Corinthians 6:1-13
“It was the best of times, it was the worst times.” Dickens’ tale of the French Revolution? No. The 217th General Assembly. Like most such gatherings, the question “How’d it go?” can be answered a thousand different ways. Whether this was the best or the worst depends largely on who is doing the asking, and who is doing the answering.
If you’ve never been to a General Assembly before, let me give you a basic rundown of what happens. On the first night, the Moderator is elected. As many of you know, my colleague in ministry Poised Pastor stood for moderator this year, and won the first ballot, but not by enough votes to be elected. On the third ballot, Southern Belle from Atlanta was elected.
The next day, the committee work commences. Various committees, which have been preselected somewhat randomly by computer, meet in various rooms to hammer out the various overtures and reports that will be presented on the floor of the business meeting, or ‘plenary’ as it is commonly called. Plenary began on Monday.
But Tuesday was the day, and everybody knew it. Tuesday was the day that the press would show up, the day that the exhibit hall would be packed, the day that the supporters and the detractors of the report form the Theological Task Force on the Peace, Unity and Purity of the church were waiting for. Tuesday was the day that the task force would present the report that had been painstakingly hammered out, bargained for, and sweated over in the Ecclesiology Committee. For some people, the very future of the church was hanging on Tuesday. Tuesday was the day that had been prayed for, written about, wondered about, and worried about.
I found a row of folks whom I knew to sit with while the report was being debated. I guess I wanted to be around familiar faces if things got weird. I wanted to have somebody I could turn to and make a subtle face of exasperation if the debate got longwinded or out of hand or if the Presbyterian (decent and orderly) version of a street fight broke out. So I looked for and found something—somebody—familiar.
The Moderator did a very wise thing. I don’t know if this is something that always happens at GA right before a potentially contentious moment or not, but Southern Belle led us through a guided prayer in which we were each asked to think of our home church. So on Tuesday even though I was 800 miles away, a part of me was right here in Charming Pituresque Village standing outside those wooden doors, opening them up, walking up to the narthex, coming up the aisle, and stopping at the table. I ran my hand along the front edge, feeling for the letters that you all get to read every Sunday, and I sometimes take for granted. What was brilliant about what the Moderator asked of us is that she returned us all to the familiar, to the comfortable, to what we know and love. For me it was a reminder of what the Presbyterian Church means to me. For a long moment, several hundred people who had come to witness an intense debate were instead transported back to the people and places that we serve.
The ensuing debate was at moments fractious, of course. Simply because we are brothers and sisters in Christ does not mean that we do not have deep disagreement in some matters. In the end, the report of the Theological Task Force was received by the General Assembly as an authoritative interpretation of how we are to be together. For most of us, the day-to-day living and working in the church remains unchanged. For some, the overwhelming feeling is that of betrayal, that the church has abandoned standards that have long been the centerpiece of our life together. (I do not agree that this is the case, for the record.) For a few others, who have long felt excluded and ignored, there is new hope for the capacity to serve the church they love, just as God has called them to.
Immediately after the vote was tallied, the Moderator asked us to return to a time of prayer. We formed circles, held hands, and prayed silently for the church. The woman immediately to my left, whom I did not know, wept uncontrollably. I suppose I could draw some conclusions about her based on that. But in truth, I really don’t know. We never truly know what is in the heart of another person. After the prayer was over, I placed my hand gently on her shoulder, in an attempt to console her or to let her know that I was standing beside her. To be honest, I felt as if it was a lame attempt, and after she did not respond for a few long seconds I became uncomfortable and withdrew my hand.
Later that day, at a loss for words to explain all that I had seen and heard and felt that day, I wrote this in my journal: The Church’s one foundation, is Jesus Christ her Lord. Period.
Once more I was clinging to the familiar, to the reliable. I remember feeling desperate to affirm that one day does not change the course of a church, unless of course that day is Good Friday. But a Tuesday in Alabama? Probably not.
Well, that was Tuesday, and this is Sunday. On Wednesday, and on Thursday, I heard the following over and over again: “I just want to get home to my people, back to my church, and get about the business of loving and serving.” I sat at dinner with two friends on Wednesday night, my friend St Casserole from the Gulf, and my friend Not Shy from The City With Big Shoulders. We were by that time a little tired of the meetings, tired of the debate, tired of the headlines, tired of seeing a silent protestor standing at the top of the stairs leading to the main exhibition hall holding a sign that read “Unhappy with PUP? Ask me how your church can fight back!” As we sat at dinner that night, we talked about our little churches—all three of us are serving churches that are statistically deemed “small” by the denomination. I talked about the Art Fair, and the Chicken Barbecue, and VBS, but I also talked about the little church that left a secure structure of the parish, to do big things. I talked about the things you were able to do without a pastor, how your membership kept growing in that interim period. I talked about the bold new projects that we were about to commence together. I talked about new families that were joining, about how I happily have to compete with “baby song” most Sunday mornings.
And gradually as I talked, it occurred to me that I was wrong about something. I had assumed that a day can’t possibly make a difference in the church. The truth is that every day makes a difference.
Attractive Young Couple, you chose this day to bring your child before the church and to declare and affirm in front of God and these witnesses, who stand beside you on behalf of the whole church, that your child is claimed by God, and that it is your intent to raise him to be a faithful disciple of Jesus Christ. And that changes everything. This very day makes a difference, not just in your lives and that of your child, but in the life of this congregation and in the Body of Christ.
The title for this sermon comes from a lyric from the musical RENT. The characters in the musical, set in New York City in the late 1980’s, are all living fragile lives under tenuous circumstances. Many of them have contracted the AIDS virus, and the few characters who aren’t sick are caught up in a web of in-authenticity and dishonesty. Each of the characters longs for one more day to do things differently—to change, to redeem themselves, to live with integrity, to make different choices. Roger, an aspiring songwriter, and Mimi, a dancer, are the central romantic couple in this story. Both are infected with the AIDS virus. Roger has cleaned up his act, gotten off drugs, and is relatively healthy. Mimi is addicted and dying. In one of the signature songs of this musical, Roger sings to Mimi that on another day, they could be together; under different circumstances, he could love her fully and completely, and they could live happily ever after. Mimi sings back:
“There's only now
There's only here
Give in to love
Or live in fear
No other path
No other way
No Day but Today”
I have a regret from General Assembly. Remember when I had my hand on that woman’s shoulder in at attempt to comfort her? I regret that I let my own discomfort allow me to let go. I had my day, my moment, and I let it slip past me. Hear again the words of St. Paul to a church that had been given the opportunity to do the right thing, to make a difference, to follow through.
As we work together with him, we urge you also not to accept the grace of God in vain. 2For he says, “At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you.” See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation!
Paul’s promise to the church is God’s promise to us: every day is a chance to build a stronger church through caring for one another. Every day is another chance to spread the Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Every day is the acceptable day of salvation, the day to live without regret or fear, but in love, one for another. Every time we gather for worship is the acceptable time to not only rejoice in the Christian family we have found, but to extend the gospel and the mission of Christ’s church into a broken and fearful world.
In the days and weeks to come, we will hear lots of commentary on the state of the church. I urge us all to respond prayerfully, lovingly to those who may be confused by what is said and done. Above all, beloved, “do not accept the grace of God in vain”
No other path, no other way, no day but today.
Thanks be to God!
No Day But Today
June 25, 2006
2 Corinthians 6:1-13
“It was the best of times, it was the worst times.” Dickens’ tale of the French Revolution? No. The 217th General Assembly. Like most such gatherings, the question “How’d it go?” can be answered a thousand different ways. Whether this was the best or the worst depends largely on who is doing the asking, and who is doing the answering.
If you’ve never been to a General Assembly before, let me give you a basic rundown of what happens. On the first night, the Moderator is elected. As many of you know, my colleague in ministry Poised Pastor stood for moderator this year, and won the first ballot, but not by enough votes to be elected. On the third ballot, Southern Belle from Atlanta was elected.
The next day, the committee work commences. Various committees, which have been preselected somewhat randomly by computer, meet in various rooms to hammer out the various overtures and reports that will be presented on the floor of the business meeting, or ‘plenary’ as it is commonly called. Plenary began on Monday.
But Tuesday was the day, and everybody knew it. Tuesday was the day that the press would show up, the day that the exhibit hall would be packed, the day that the supporters and the detractors of the report form the Theological Task Force on the Peace, Unity and Purity of the church were waiting for. Tuesday was the day that the task force would present the report that had been painstakingly hammered out, bargained for, and sweated over in the Ecclesiology Committee. For some people, the very future of the church was hanging on Tuesday. Tuesday was the day that had been prayed for, written about, wondered about, and worried about.
I found a row of folks whom I knew to sit with while the report was being debated. I guess I wanted to be around familiar faces if things got weird. I wanted to have somebody I could turn to and make a subtle face of exasperation if the debate got longwinded or out of hand or if the Presbyterian (decent and orderly) version of a street fight broke out. So I looked for and found something—somebody—familiar.
The Moderator did a very wise thing. I don’t know if this is something that always happens at GA right before a potentially contentious moment or not, but Southern Belle led us through a guided prayer in which we were each asked to think of our home church. So on Tuesday even though I was 800 miles away, a part of me was right here in Charming Pituresque Village standing outside those wooden doors, opening them up, walking up to the narthex, coming up the aisle, and stopping at the table. I ran my hand along the front edge, feeling for the letters that you all get to read every Sunday, and I sometimes take for granted. What was brilliant about what the Moderator asked of us is that she returned us all to the familiar, to the comfortable, to what we know and love. For me it was a reminder of what the Presbyterian Church means to me. For a long moment, several hundred people who had come to witness an intense debate were instead transported back to the people and places that we serve.
The ensuing debate was at moments fractious, of course. Simply because we are brothers and sisters in Christ does not mean that we do not have deep disagreement in some matters. In the end, the report of the Theological Task Force was received by the General Assembly as an authoritative interpretation of how we are to be together. For most of us, the day-to-day living and working in the church remains unchanged. For some, the overwhelming feeling is that of betrayal, that the church has abandoned standards that have long been the centerpiece of our life together. (I do not agree that this is the case, for the record.) For a few others, who have long felt excluded and ignored, there is new hope for the capacity to serve the church they love, just as God has called them to.
Immediately after the vote was tallied, the Moderator asked us to return to a time of prayer. We formed circles, held hands, and prayed silently for the church. The woman immediately to my left, whom I did not know, wept uncontrollably. I suppose I could draw some conclusions about her based on that. But in truth, I really don’t know. We never truly know what is in the heart of another person. After the prayer was over, I placed my hand gently on her shoulder, in an attempt to console her or to let her know that I was standing beside her. To be honest, I felt as if it was a lame attempt, and after she did not respond for a few long seconds I became uncomfortable and withdrew my hand.
Later that day, at a loss for words to explain all that I had seen and heard and felt that day, I wrote this in my journal: The Church’s one foundation, is Jesus Christ her Lord. Period.
Once more I was clinging to the familiar, to the reliable. I remember feeling desperate to affirm that one day does not change the course of a church, unless of course that day is Good Friday. But a Tuesday in Alabama? Probably not.
Well, that was Tuesday, and this is Sunday. On Wednesday, and on Thursday, I heard the following over and over again: “I just want to get home to my people, back to my church, and get about the business of loving and serving.” I sat at dinner with two friends on Wednesday night, my friend St Casserole from the Gulf, and my friend Not Shy from The City With Big Shoulders. We were by that time a little tired of the meetings, tired of the debate, tired of the headlines, tired of seeing a silent protestor standing at the top of the stairs leading to the main exhibition hall holding a sign that read “Unhappy with PUP? Ask me how your church can fight back!” As we sat at dinner that night, we talked about our little churches—all three of us are serving churches that are statistically deemed “small” by the denomination. I talked about the Art Fair, and the Chicken Barbecue, and VBS, but I also talked about the little church that left a secure structure of the parish, to do big things. I talked about the things you were able to do without a pastor, how your membership kept growing in that interim period. I talked about the bold new projects that we were about to commence together. I talked about new families that were joining, about how I happily have to compete with “baby song” most Sunday mornings.
And gradually as I talked, it occurred to me that I was wrong about something. I had assumed that a day can’t possibly make a difference in the church. The truth is that every day makes a difference.
Attractive Young Couple, you chose this day to bring your child before the church and to declare and affirm in front of God and these witnesses, who stand beside you on behalf of the whole church, that your child is claimed by God, and that it is your intent to raise him to be a faithful disciple of Jesus Christ. And that changes everything. This very day makes a difference, not just in your lives and that of your child, but in the life of this congregation and in the Body of Christ.
The title for this sermon comes from a lyric from the musical RENT. The characters in the musical, set in New York City in the late 1980’s, are all living fragile lives under tenuous circumstances. Many of them have contracted the AIDS virus, and the few characters who aren’t sick are caught up in a web of in-authenticity and dishonesty. Each of the characters longs for one more day to do things differently—to change, to redeem themselves, to live with integrity, to make different choices. Roger, an aspiring songwriter, and Mimi, a dancer, are the central romantic couple in this story. Both are infected with the AIDS virus. Roger has cleaned up his act, gotten off drugs, and is relatively healthy. Mimi is addicted and dying. In one of the signature songs of this musical, Roger sings to Mimi that on another day, they could be together; under different circumstances, he could love her fully and completely, and they could live happily ever after. Mimi sings back:
“There's only now
There's only here
Give in to love
Or live in fear
No other path
No other way
No Day but Today”
I have a regret from General Assembly. Remember when I had my hand on that woman’s shoulder in at attempt to comfort her? I regret that I let my own discomfort allow me to let go. I had my day, my moment, and I let it slip past me. Hear again the words of St. Paul to a church that had been given the opportunity to do the right thing, to make a difference, to follow through.
As we work together with him, we urge you also not to accept the grace of God in vain. 2For he says, “At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you.” See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation!
Paul’s promise to the church is God’s promise to us: every day is a chance to build a stronger church through caring for one another. Every day is another chance to spread the Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Every day is the acceptable day of salvation, the day to live without regret or fear, but in love, one for another. Every time we gather for worship is the acceptable time to not only rejoice in the Christian family we have found, but to extend the gospel and the mission of Christ’s church into a broken and fearful world.
In the days and weeks to come, we will hear lots of commentary on the state of the church. I urge us all to respond prayerfully, lovingly to those who may be confused by what is said and done. Above all, beloved, “do not accept the grace of God in vain”
No other path, no other way, no day but today.
Thanks be to God!
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