SERMON
at
Christ Church, Watertown, Connecticut
Easter V
May 10, 2009
by
The Rev. Stanley C. Kemmerer, AHC

The first thing I do when I’m preparing a sermon is read the lessons appointed to be read that Sunday, in the order in which they will be read, so that I have an overview of what you all will have experienced just before, and so that I can gain an initial sense of how the selected scriptures may be related to one another.

Then I sit quietly and wait for what thoughts may come into my mind. I pay attention to where my mind goes. Freud might say I “free associate.”

When I did that this week and read the Epistle passage about loving one another it seemed a serendipitous selection to be read on Mothers Day, when a lot of attention is given to the positive role mothers play in our lives. It’s a wonderful litmus test for faith: Loving acts are Godlike acts. Whyever would one who has choices in this life, in a society that exacts no penalty anymore for not being affiliated with a church, spend time, money, and energy on doing so if they didn’t find their days went better because of it, discover addressing the challenges of living weren’t easier, or if they weren’t confident there’d be consequences after they died if they didn’t? And fewer and fewer are convinced of that last, we all know!

Ah, but what is love? We use the term a fair amount in our house. We use it spontaneously. One or the other of us will have the thought and we’ll just utter it. One will say (or sometimes call from one part of the house to the other) “I love you.”

One day we developed a new part of that dialogue. I’d said it. Nancy, in something of a “Can we talk?” tone, looked me in the eye and said, “Do you really?” Struggling, I sputtered, “Yes. I do. Why do you ask?” I’m a philosophy major. I’ve studied metaphysics, the subcategory of philosophy that deals with “the thing in itself.” With “what makes a chair a chair?” In what does its “chairness” lie? I found myself reciting acts, events, ways the two of us interact, and concluded, “So, yes, I do love you. Whatever love is….” So now we often add that phrase: “Whatever love is.”

Because I’m not so sure any of us fully know. But I am sure learning, as best we can, is important. And I’m grateful this scripture may prompt the exploration.

I’m pretty sure we have a pretty good handle on its dimension of caring for another, showing kindness toward another, looking out for others’ welfare. I think we in churches have got that down pretty well. We may not always practice it as well as we would like but we “get” that part.

But I’m concerned that, in our desire to be “nice,” not to offend, we’ve eliminated from the definition love’s role as “tough love,” destroying an important balance. We need a candor about ourselves we may share with one another that calls us to be all we can be, too.

It’s the love a parent has for a child, sometimes uttered during a spanking, in the words, “This probably hurts me more than it does you but I’m doing this because I love you. Some day you’ll realize that.” And if the discipline is administered well, lovingly and not as an abusive expression of parental anger, large numbers of children, then grown, will realize it was for their own good and will be thankful.

As we who populate what’s come to be called the “Sandwich Generation” are learning all too well, it also may be the love that confronts an elder with their limitations, the love needed to midwife the surrender of the car keys and drivers license, the familiar surroundings, in favor of a greater level of health and/or day-to-day support.

One wise observer has referred to the process of aging as one of “relinquishment.” I like that term! But the Lord protect those of us who have to administer it. Seldom is it kindly received. I’ll not repeat the term my late father-in-law used in his response to the decision his daughter had to make in that regard. At least it was some comfort when we compared notes with others with elder parents that they, pretty much to a person, had experienced the same kind of thing. But “loving” is not necessarily an adjective many of our parents would use to describe these acts.

In congregational life, efforts to set standards, to ask things of people, have been interpreted as unloving too. We fear doing so will drive people away. Be it the standard of the tithe or that one be at least baptized to receive communion, or (as we approach the wedding season) that one already be an active, currently practicing church member for a clergyperson to be willing to officiate at their wedding!

Or take the matter of church membership: Technically, regular worship and to be a “contributor of record,” someone whose giving is in a form that can be recorded and tracked, as opposed to cash in a collection plate are the twin requirements.

To be fully a member used to mean having been confirmed by a bishop, after preparation and study, or received by a bishop if from another branch of the Catholic faith, like Roman Catholic or Eastern Orthodox, again after preparation and study. That extra step, though still available, has not been the custom for many years. In general, that’s probably been a good thing because it’s been “visitor friendly” and we enjoy the active participation of many and are enriched by the diversity they’ve brought. But it’s also problematic at times, because, unaware of Anglican traditions and understandings, we sometimes get into squabbles we’d not have gotten into.

Congregations grapple with the tension between participation and excellence: What a given person may offer themselves to do on occasion may not be their particular gift. Should someone who, perhaps didn’t volunteer but who is better suited to the task, be recruited and chosen instead?

Would that be the loving act? How important is the match of talent with a given task? It’s complicated and different congregations decide in differing ways and may even change how they choose over time or in particular circumstances.

As we make ponder these things we confront the reality that many of the largest and fastest growing churches are those that ask a great deal of their members.

Most require and enforce the tithe. They set standards of excellence and intentionally deploy talent. People “try out” for responsibilities. Is it “loving” to set and enforce such standards? Many would say it is because the quality achieved instills the pride that comes from being all one can be, and increases the appeal of the faith practiced. Adherents feel they’re part of a “can do” organization, on the march, getting things done, “to the greater glory of God,” they’d say.

So when I got to the Gospel I was grateful for its balance, its reference to the importance of pruning for growth and its reminder it takes us, together, to be the tree. And that, separate from the trunk, we’re not all that much.

I was taken by a comment by a Unitarian lay person in an article in my home town newspaper about the growing number of people rejecting religion but declaring their affinity for spirituality: “I think (people) don’t realize that a spirituality that you practice only in your own living room may not be very robust when you encounter the challenges of life. If you don’t have some sort of spiritual community around you, the opportunity to share others’ ideas and test yours, you miss an important part of what spirituality really is.”

We’ve all heard, in one form or another, “I believe. I just don’t go to church.” And we’ve all heard most of the reasons cited, all the way from some fight the person got into with some other member, some parish direction of which they didn’t approve, some clergyperson they didn’t like, something for which they didn’t receive the appreciation they believe they deserved. And the expectation seems to be “So, understand. And drop it. Leave me alone.” And, mostly, we do. Because we don’t want an argument, or to lose a friendship. It’s not worth challenging.

But is it loving? Are there ways to answer that are gentle, kind, yet truth telling? Maybe not in that moment because, if you’re like me, you’re somewhat on the defensive and likely to respond in a manner that would make it worse. But later. Through a personal witness. In a well thought out letter or e-mail. We write them on other subjects after all.

Because if someone were to tell us they were a sports fan and never attended or watched a game, we’d question that, wouldn’t we? Or an opera buff who had no interest in music? Or an expert on Russia because they could see it from their porch?

And what do all the rationalizations for non-participation have to do with the fact the branches cut off from the trunk are nothing. It wasn’t Maudie Frickert we bound ourselves to in baptism. It’s not Wally Dipstick we follow.

The truth is: without the community, that so-called “belief” exists in isolation, without challenge to its error or ignorance, and alone we get much less done than as part of a movement.

Much to ponder. May the Force be with us on the journey!