Confessing Together

 

Psalm107:17-22

2 Corinthians5:16-21

A Lutheran pastor once told me a story about the “new and improved” Lutheran book of worship that had just come out. 

It’s actually a bit of a tussle whenever the church puts out a new book of worship because it means the congregations have to learn new musical settings for the liturgy. And, believe it or not, a lot of the congregants don’t like change that much.

But apparently some of the members of this congregation thought they had found a silver lining. They noticed that the confession of sin was no longer a required part of the weekly worship service. It was now optional; they could confess their sins if they wanted to, but they didn’t have to.

Well, they immediately brought this to the pastor’s attention. Because it seemed as though he had overlooked this important piece of information. He just looked at them and smiled. He said, No, actually, it isn’t optional. It might be the new and improved worship setting, but we’re still the same old and unimproved human beings. We’ll continue to confess our sins. Every week.

I guess I feel the same way this Lutheran pastor did. While it isn’t required in our Presbyterian worship – because in our Reformed worship there are very few things that are explicitly required – it is important in our faith and in our worship.

For Presbyterians, the confession of sin is strategically placed in our order of worship. It is one of the first things we do together on a Sunday morning, very simply because it is something we all need to do before we can enter the Word of God. Before we can hear the Word, before it can work in us, we need to remove any barriers that stand in the way. Pretending we are not sinners? That would be a major barrier.

So important is this act of worship, that some Presbyterian churches put the call to confession as the very first thing. It is as if to say you cannot even begin to worship God before you have made your confession.

The prayer of confession is, of course, a corporate prayer, meaning it is a prayer we make together as one body. And that is sometimes troublesome to some of us. Many times I have had someone approach me after the worship service to let me know that they have a bone to pick about some particular part of the prayer of confession. They will say, “I don’t do that, so I don’t feel I should have to confess it.” They might say, “That isn’t even relevant to me, and I am offended by the expectation that I should say it.”

It is true, of course, that some of the things we confess on any given Sunday we have not done personally. But we are confessing as a body; we are, in a way, all claiming responsibility for one another. We confess the sins of the church as a whole, and even sometimes the sins of humankind as a whole.

But even more, I would suggest to you that the corporate confession of sin gives each one of us an opportunity to search ourselves honestly and root out the hidden sin. The moment of silent confession gives a little time for that.

I know that the time of confession may not be the most upbeat and joyful part of our worship, but it can truly lead to joy. We confess our sin to God, we lift off the burden that is weighing us down, imprisoning us, and we rejoice in the glory of God, who is merciful and loving.

Because every time we enter into confession we immediately receive an assurance of forgiveness through Christ our Savior. In the words of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, “if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation.”

In fact, the reason we can confess our sin so freely is because our forgiveness is assured.

We confess as a church, together, for the sins of all. We each confess silently, for the particular sins we have committed. And for all of it we receive forgiveness. But it may feel, somehow, that the sin clings to us, even though we have confessed.

I have often heard it said that the problem is that we don’t forgive ourselves. We remain troubled by sins because we continue to hold ourselves in contempt, even though God has already forgiven. Friends will encourage us to be kinder to ourselves, to forgive ourselves so we can move on. I know this is true sometimes.

But Bonhoeffer raises a question that I find nags at me: When we have made our confession in the silence of our hearts, naming our particular sins in silence, are we, perhaps only confessing to ourselves? Is it possible that in this silent confession we are trying to grant ourselves absolution, leaving God and everyone else out of it? and is this, possibly, the real reason we feel unable to leave that sin behind?

Bonhoeffer makes a strong case for each one confessing their sin to another human being. Not a priest, because there is no special power that the priest has to wipe out our sins, but to a brother, or a sister, in Christ. To say them out loud to another, and, of course, that is something we don’t care to do.

We say that our sin is between ourselves and God, but there are actually so many ways this is not true. When we have wronged someone else, when we have failed to give our time and our talents to the work of the church, when we have been callous about the needs of others – in all these cases our sins are relevant to others. In truth, our sin is between ourselves and God and our community. In the community of Christ, we are all called to be as Christ to one another.

We often say in the Presbyterian Church that we are all ministers, and that is true in the Lutheran Church as well. We believe that, by virtue of our baptism we are empowered to share the good news of God’s grace; we are given the authority to offer the forgiveness of sin in Christ’s name. And we are strengthened to give strength to one another as we walk this path together. This is a ministry that we all share. As Paul writes to the Corinthians, “God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, has given us the ministry of reconciliation.”

There are moments in the life of a congregation when this act of reconciliation is crucial. A congregation where I once served went through a rough patch together. During that time people said things they should not have said. People did things they should not have done. There was a lot of hurt. Something needed to be done. So we held a healing service. We implored everyone to come, especially those whom we knew were suffering.

We made a prayer of confession a central part of our worship. We prayed together, using the printed words on the page of our bulletin. Then we took some time to move around the sanctuary to offer forgiveness to one another. We gave everyone as much time as was needed to approach the ones they wanted to approach, to say the words they needed to say, and to offer one another signs and words of forgiveness.

It was something that had to be done. These were not matters we wanted to carry around with us for years to come, like suitcases full of bricks. The church had to let it go and the only way to let it go was to ask for and offer forgiveness.

“If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.” We find these words in the first epistle of John, and it is a reminder we all need to hear: that our confession of sin is not an add-on. It is not just one of many options we might choose on any given day.

The church is sometimes called a hospital for sinners, because all of these sin-sick souls are in need of healing, which comes to us through forgiveness. Anyone is welcome here. No one is expected to get their act together before they walk in the door. Just as God loves each of us just as we are, we are each called to love others, just as they are.

The church is also sometimes called a school for saints, because every one of us recovering sinners is in need of spiritual nourishment, to grow in grace and love. That is our hope for anyone who walks through our door, no matter who they are.

Only in church can we do these things. Only in the community of Christ can we give to one another what is needed to heal and grow. That is why we are here.

I don’t know how I would live without the church, because it has always been there for me. It feels as though losing the church would be like losing my heart.

I say this, even though I know that being the church is never easy. The work of community is hard work. When we would rather sleep in, we are called to get up and go be with the community. When we would rather spend our cash on our own private pleasures, we are called to give to the work of the church. When we would rather walk away from a hard relationship, we are called to stay in it, working toward reconciliation.

But I must say this morning, the ministry of reconciliation goes beyond what happens between these four walls. After the news of another racist mass murder on Saturday in Jacksonville, we are reminded there is much need for reconciliation out in the world, and once again we see how excruciatingly painful this problem is. We live in a society where hatred is allowed to grow freely and flourish. So free that some even believe they are justified in killing others simply because they have dark skin. This is the sin of our nation, a sin we all share, and we must face it. Hard as it is, we must face it.

Only church asks these hard things from us. And only church gives us the surprising and precious gifts in return.

Together we are so much more than any one of us could be alone. Together we are the body of Christ our Lord – to him be all glory and dominion, forever and ever.

Listening Together

Psalm46  

1Corinthians 1:4-9

Once when I was still in seminary I was invited to preach at a church whose service was broadcast on the radio. I felt like my big moment had arrived, my 15 minutes of fame. This was exciting.

Someone from the church called me in advance to fill me in on a few important things to know about being on the radio, and the most important thing was silence. There is no silence allowed on the radio. I was warned that after so many seconds of silence the broadcast will be cut off, and the station would go to something else. It wasn’t anything personal. They wouldn’t cut me off because they didn’t like my sermon. It’s just that there is no silence allowed on the radio. In fact, since they had been broadcasting, they had made certain modifications in the worship service to make sure there would be no silence, and this essentially involved the organist playing a lot of traveling music, as it’s called.

I did what I was supposed to do, and everything was fine.

Then they invited me back to preach again and this time it was a communion Sunday. A couple of things are different on a communion Sunday. For one, there is lots of traveling music – ask our organist Susan and she will tell you.

But the second thing that was special was that, because I was not yet an ordained minister of word and sacrament, I could not preside over the communion table. They knew this, but they invited me anyway. And they resolved this problem by also asking a retired pastor to participate.

Well, everything went fine, until I made a rookie mistake. I mean, I had never presided over the communion table before and I did something dumb, which threw everything off and I didn’t know what to do next. I looked over at my co-presider for help. But apparently, this guy thought his role that day was to just stand there and look like a pastor. He wasn’t even paying attention, so he was no help at all.

So there I was, a dumb rookie, with everyone looking to me, as if I knew what I was doing. Which I didn’t. It felt like an eternity as I stood up there trying to think it through. And because there is no silence on the radio, the organist played and played and played her heart out. She had no idea what was going on, but the whole broadcast clearly depended on her now.

During the after-worship coffee hour, I approached her and apologized for my awkwardness and all it put her through. And she turned to me with a wild look in her eyes that made my heart race. Through clenched teeth she said, “Why whatever do you mean?”

She was a little frazzled. I didn’t get invited back after that.

I had two thoughts after this experience: One was that I had better get my act together at the communion table. And the second was about silence. Is silence a good thing? Is silence dangerous?

The answer, I think, is yes. And yes.

Silence makes us uncomfortable. If we are with other people and there is silence, it feels like we are wasting time, like someone should be saying something. We may grow bored. We may even become angry.

I know that for people who live alone, silence is sometimes sad. So we keep the TV or radio on, so it doesn’t feel so alone.

Silence in church might make you feel like you’re not getting what you came here for. You came here to receive something edifying – a message, beautiful music, fellowship – not silence.

Maybe we acknowledge that silence has its place, but we like talking. As we were saying last week, humans are made for community, and a central aspect of community is talking to one another.

I selected this passage from Corinthians for today because in it Paul praises speech. But we find out shortly that he wrote this with a sense of irony. In a way, he is setting the Corinthians up for a dressing down.

Before we get into that, though, let’s take a step back. Corinthians is one of the New Testament epistles, of which there are 21, many of them written by Paul. Epistles are letters – letters someone wrote to someone else, and this means that when we are reading the epistles we are reading someone else’s mail.

He was actually speaking to someone else’s issues, in this case it’s the church in Corinth. And the church in Corinth, it is pretty clear from the letters, had issues.

Corinth had a long history as a prosperous trade city. Because of where it was situated, it was the perfect route for transporting goods between east and west. The city had a rich, diverse, and lively cultural life. But about 200 years before Paul wrote this letter, the city was captured by Rome and destroyed. The people of Corinth were either killed or enslaved, the ruins of the city were abandoned.

About 100 years later, Julius Caesar rebuilt Corinth as a Roman colony, basically, reopening Corinth for business. And it attracted people who were looking for a new start in life. Many of these people who came to Corinth were former slaves, hoping to make something prosperous of their new freedom.

We hear a hint of this when Paul says, later in this chapter, that when you were called into the church, not many of you were powerful, not many of you were of noble birth. We might say these people were strivers. They had ambition, but they weren’t there yet. There were some members of the church who lived very privileged lives, but many of them were on the lower rungs of the socio-economic ladder.

From our point of view, it might be a surprise that all these diverse people were thrown together in the church. Actually, it might have been a surprise to them too. We can be sure that some of the problems they were experiencing were a direct result of the diversity in the congregation.

So, in these opening sentences we heard today, Paul is laying out some of the issues he will address, and among these issues is the matter of speaking in the worship gathering. It doesn’t seem like they had a problem of too much silence. On the contrary they had too much talking.

They weren’t Presbyterians. They didn’t have a well-established order of worship as we have now. They didn’t have centuries of tradition that informed their attitudes and behavior in worship – there is both good and bad that we could say about that. But what this church was apparently experiencing was competitiveness in the congregation.

They were in competition with one another about their spiritual gifts, and this is where speaking comes in: the most dazzling of the gifts of the Spirit is speaking in tongues. Basically, they were showing off.

Now, I have never met a Presbyterian with the gift of tongues, although I wouldn’t put it past the Holy Spirit to sweep in here and set us all aflame like the apostles on the day of Pentecost. But just because we don’t speak in tongues, it doesn’t mean this letter has nothing to say to us. The truth is, in any congregation, there is a temptation to see ourselves as, somehow, superior to the person who sits across from us in the pews. Or the one who just walked through the door for the first time. And that is a problem.

Arrogance is not a fruit of the Spirit. But self-control is. Modesty is.

Paul writes to the Corinthians that the gifts we are given should be used for the building up – not the tearing down – of the community of Christ. The gifts of God are for the people of God.

Bonhoeffer has a chapter in his book, Life Together, about ministry, and he begins it by addressing the danger of ego in the Christian community. Our egos will put us in competition with one another, always comparing ourselves to others. And it is to this point that Bonhoeffer lists the various kinds of ministry that are essential in the church.

The first ministry he names is the ministry of holding one’s tongue. The second is the ministry of meekness. And the third is the ministry of listening. There are, of course, other necessary ministries, but isn’t it interesting that these are the first three he puts forward?

I think it says listen: we all know what the greatest temptations are, the greatest dangers are, and so the first thing we need to do is check those things at the door: check our egos, check our competitiveness, check our judginess. And only when we have done those things can we really listen.

On the matter of listening, Bonhoeffer writes that this is a service we owe to one another in the community. Listening to another is a means of loving another. Everyone has the need to be heard, really heard. So everyone of us has the obligation to hear them – no matter what they have to say.

Because if we truly listen with the love of God in our hearts, we will then be in a position to speak from that same heart. Only by listening can we help in building up the community of Christ.

And so listening is an important discipline for the church. That means silence is an important discipline for each of us individually. And that goes back to the danger of silence.

Silence may feel dangerous to us for a number of reasons. Maybe it makes us feel alone. Maybe it makes us feel unimportant.

But I think the real risk in silence is that we might hear a word from God that is calling us to something new. A deeper commitment, perhaps. An openness new people or practices. Perhaps an anointing to take on a new role, a new ministry. In your silence you might hear it as the still small voice of God. Or you might hear it in the words of the person sitting before you.

Silence is good because in silence we might hear a word from God. That is also why silence is dangerous. And it is why silence is essential to the church.

Maybe silence is not good for radio, but it’s surely good for us. 

Praying Together

Psalm 104:24-34

Acts 1:12-14      

Do you remember the old British TV show Monty Python’s Flying Circus? They once did a sketch about a couple of hermits having a conversation. One of them calls out to the other, “Say, are you a hermit?” He says, “Yes, I am! Are you?” “Yes!” and they exclaim over how nice it is to meet each other.

“So what are you getting away from?”

“O, the usual: people, chat, gossip – you know.”

“Oh, I certainly do. It was the same with me. I mean, there comes a time you realize there’s no good frittering your life away in idleness and trivial chitchat. Where’s your cave?”

Then they launch into a conversation about various materials that might be used for insulating caves. Meanwhile, other hermits pass by with their shopping bags, greeting one another:

“Morning Frank.”  “Morning, Norman.”

Back to the conversation.

“You know Mr. Robinson?”

“with the green loincloth?”

“no, that’s Mr. Seagrave. Mr. Robinson’s the one who lodges with Mr. Seagrave.”

More chitchat, more passersby, more gossip about the other hermits in the neighborhood. Then one says,

“One thing about being a hermit: At least you meet people.”

It’s very silly, as all Monty Python sketches are. But silly with a point: people are made for community – even hermits.

Right in the middle of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s book, Life Together, is a chapter called The Day Alone. It has always struck me as a bit odd, but there it is. And it is all about prayer.

Bonhoeffer writes: Let him who cannot be alone beware of community. And let him who is not in community beware of being alone. It is quite clear that we need both and that community and solitude need each other. Time alone can make you a better companion to others, and time with others can make you a better companion to yourself.

Consistent with Bonhoeffer’s philosophy, both time alone and time with others is grounded in the presence of God. And while we know that the time we spend together as a community of Christians involves many opportunities for prayer, scripture, serving one another, learning with one another – we may not be as aware that time alone with God is just as essential.

Bonhoeffer describes three elements of that time alone with God: meditation, which is primarily about opening our hearts and minds to listen for God. Then there is prayer, which is grounded in scripture, so this might involve simply reading a passage of scripture to yourself. And finally, there is intercession, which is at the heart of Christian prayer.

Intercessory prayer is what we do every week in our worship when we lift up our joys and concerns. It is what we do with our prayer list that we update and share each week. We pray for the world in many ways, but probably our most intimate and fervent prayers are the ones we make for our loved ones and our community of faith. It is an integral part of our life together, even when we make these prayers in solitude.

Bonhoeffer writes, intercessory prayer is the purifying bath into which the individual and the fellowship must enter every day. Purifying because this simple act has the power to bring all of our relationships into the light of God. Intercessory prayer draws another person into the presence of God with us and allows us to see that person as a beloved child of God, in need of forgiveness and grace just as much as we are, ourselves. Intercessory prayer makes us more loving. Communities that devote themselves to prayer become stronger communities. This is the gem I want to lift up today in these short verses from Acts, where we find the disciples of Jesus in the days after Christ’s ascension to heaven.

The Gospel of Luke ends with Jesus ascending into heaven after some parting words for his inner circle of disciples. Luke’s second volume, The Acts of the Apostles, begins essentially in that same place. It is clear that Luke doesn’t want the reader to miss a thing.

We get the vivid image of Jesus floating up into the clouds, or something to that effect, while the disciples stand on the ground looking up, mouths gaping open. They stare until he disappears and then they continue to stare at the space where he was.

We might get the feeling that these men are at a loss as to what comes next. They were followers, but now the leader is gone. They were students, but now the teacher is absent. They are unsure who they are now. How can they be followers when there is no one to lead? How can they be learners without a teacher?

It doesn’t surprise me that they would feel aimless and purposeless right now. Three years earlier, they pulled up their roots and bet everything on this itinerant preacher. He became their north star, their direction, their guide. But now that he is gone – what next?

They go back to the upper room – the place they have been staying ever since they came to Jerusalem for the Passover. Their next steps will be telling – and here is what they tell us.

They begin with prayer. We really should not overlook the significance of this. They didn’t sit down, have a brief prayer, then get down to business. Prayer was their business. These men and women were “constantly devoting themselves to prayer.” Yes, of course there are many other things that must be done. But this devotion to prayer shows an understanding that their wisdom, strength, and hope will come from God alone.

When we are overcome by our emotions – anger, sadness, fear – prayer is there for us. When we are at the end of our rope and we don’t know what to do, prayer is there for us. But prayers of desperation are not all we have. The structure of prayer we have in our time of worship together is precious to us – prayers expressing joy and adoration of God, prayers of thankfulness, prayers of self-reflection and confession as well as our intercessory prayers – these provide a balanced structure to our relationship with God. We pray silently, we pray responsively, we pray in our singing.

Do you have a practice of praying when you are alone? The structure we enjoy in our worship can give us a good framework for our time alone as well. Why not set aside a time in your day when you can pray? Time enough to speak to God. Time enough to listen for God speaking to you.

Time to lift up the people you love into the light of God, to bless your relationship with them by praying for them. You don’t even need words for that. Simply say their name; hold them up in the light of God and rest a moment in that light with them.

A community of Christ is made stronger when its members take time for prayer. All our work, all we do, begins with the power of prayer.

Eating Together

 

Exodus 16:1-5,13-26  

Mark 6:30-44     

Eating is so special.

There is nothing that marks the passing of time, the special days, the milestones of life like sharing food.  Nothing shapes our common life in the same way as meals we eat together. Aren’t the most joyful occasions with loved ones centered around sharing food and drink? Eating is so very special.

Yet eating is so ordinary. 

Is there anything that reveals our human frailty more than our hunger?  It is a daily reminder to us of our need.  We are creatures that will be broken if we do not have our recommended daily allowance of nutrients.  You are not a rock; you are not an island; you are dependent on the rest of God’s creation to survive and thrive. We all are.  We need to eat; no matter what else is going on in our lives we need to eat.  God knows this is true. 

That day when Jesus led his disciples away to a deserted place, they were hungry. There were so many people around wanting so many things from them - they were being pulled in so many directions away from themselves and their own needs, to rest or to eat. They were hungry when Jesus took them away from the crowds that day to a deserted place. The crowds found them anyway. And it turned out that the thousands of people who found them there were hungry too. 

There they were: a throng of hungry people in a lonely, deserted place. 

The disciples were concerned. They said to Jesus, “send them away so they can go somewhere else to be fed.” Surely, here in the wilderness, there would not be enough.  But it turned out there was enough...and more.  Five loaves and two fishes turned into a meal for 5,000 with 12 baskets full of leftovers. 

The people were in a lonely place, a place that looked like death, a place that didn’t look like it could sustain life, then – amazingly – out of almost nothing there was plenty.

It was like that in the wilderness with Moses and the Israelites too.  There they were without their fleshpots and whatnot, and they panicked.

But God provided the manna and people went out and gathered it up.  Now, here is something special about this story: it didn’t matter how much they gathered; they all had enough...enough and no more.  Some gathered more, some gathered less, but every single one had enough.  You couldn’t hoard it, you couldn’t save it up for later just in case, but every day there was enough.

If we accept what God has to offer, we won’t be in a deserted place anymore.

Bonhoeffer wrote about table fellowship in his book Life Together. He said ever since Jesus sat at table with his disciples, the table fellowship of the church has been blessed with his presence.

We are most aware of this when we gather at the communion table. When we set the table with the cup and the loaf; when we invite you to come to the table to receive the bread and the cup, or when we pass the plates in the pews, from one to another to another; when we repeat the words that Jesus said to his friends at that last dinner they shared together: this is my body, this is my blood; do this in remembrance of me.

In these moments we know he is there with us. He is our guest and our host. Christ is the giver of all gifts and the gift itself. How can we fail to be thankful? This is why the communion prayer is called the Great Thanksgiving. In this prayer we remember the ways God has provided for us through the ages. In this prayer we are recognizing the unbroken chain linking us to all the generations who came before, all of us sustained by the steadfast, nurturing love of God.

The sacrament of communion is about life in Christ, life together.

And because we have this beautifully unique sacrament, we are blessed with the knowledge that anytime and anywhere we gather at table in his name he is present there with us. The first prayer I learned was, “Come, Lord Jesus; be our guest. And may these gifts to us be blessed.” He is our guest and our host, our gift and our giver. And he is at table with us whenever, wherever we extend the invitation.

Every time. Munch and Mingle in the Fellowship Hall. Donuts and coffee before worship. Wednesday night suppers, or Thursdays at the Red Roost – whether we are breaking bread or picking crabs – whenever and wherever we gather as the church around the table, Christ is there too.

You see, when you belong to the body of Christ, amazing things happen.

There was once a time when I had an enemy in the church; someone who had offended me deeply.  He called me to offer an apology and invited me to lunch, but I declined.  I was not ready to forgive him. And I certainly didn’t want table fellowship with him. 

But some time later, we were in worship together.  Communion was celebrated, and we were invited to form a circle around the table, passing the bread and the cup to one another. I took my place in the circle; I took the loaf and the cup that was passed to me, then I turned to the man on my right and offered them to him.  I looked in his eyes and said, “The body of Christ, broken for you; the blood of Christ, shed for you.” 

It wasn’t until later that I realized that man I shared the loaf and cup with was my enemy, the one whose lunch invitation I refused.  How could I have not known this?  When I looked in his eyes at the communion table, I saw a man who was just as much in need of forgiveness as I was, a person as hungry as I was. I didn’t see an enemy – I saw a brother.

It’s a mystery and a miracle.  It was a gift that allowed me to see him in a new light.

When Christ is present you are no longer in a lonely place, but you are part of a beloved community. When Christ is present, life is bountiful and there is enough for everyone.

To Christ our Lord be all honor and glory forever.  Amen.

 

Life Together

 

Matthew 7:7-14

Ephesians 4:25-32

Jessica Grose recently wrote a series of articles for the New York Times about the fact that Americans are moving away from religion. All the research shows a growing segment of the population that has been affectionately called the “Nones.” Not nuns, in the Catholic sense, but as in, I have no religious preference. None.

The Nones are a complex and diverse group. A few of them are atheists. But most of them are not necessarily opposed to religion. Many of them were raised in a religious community but have drifted away for various reasons.

As she studied this diverse group of people, she has learned that they have filled their lives with other commitments, relationships, priorities – but one thing they often miss is the community of the church. These people have searched for a sense of community in other places, but nothing takes the place.

Grose interviewed sociologists for this project, and she asked all of them if it was possible for communities created around secular activities to give the same level of support that religion does, and almost every one said no.

You can have your book club, your golf league, your political action group, your community service organization – you can have a sense of belonging with any or all of these groups – but nothing will take the place of religious community. Because religious community is so much more.

And as people drift away from religious community, I wonder if they even know what they are losing.

What exactly is the importance of other people in our lives? What is the real value of human community?

I cannot speak for other religious communities, but I can say with confidence that the church has a very particular answer to those questions – an answer that you will not find anywhere else.

In both of today’s scriptures, we hear instruction to the church – the community of Christ.  The passage from Matthew was written late in the first century with the church very firmly in mind. The letter to the Ephesians is one of a number of letters we have preserved in our New Testament that give specific encouragement and instruction to the church communities.

Much of the content of these letters in the New Testament focus on how to behave toward one another – not because the apostles were concerned about manners, being nice, or anything like that – but because the community of the church is meant to be authentic community in Christ.

That is counterintuitive, countercultural, and counter to our sinful human nature.  The very idea that we are members of one another, as the letter says, is a difficult one for us to swallow.  It may sound good in theory, but in reality?  In the flesh?  Not so much.

The letter to the church in Ephesus alludes to some of the reasons why we might avoid community at times:  people are difficult.  They say hurtful things because they are angry or because they are careless or because it just sounds so clever when they say it. Then they fail to be helpful because they are preoccupied or because they assume it’s not their business. They say harsh, judgmental things because they believe they know better than other people do.  

Now. Scratch every “they” in those sentences and insert “we.”  We are difficult.  We say harsh, judgmental things. We fail to help one another.

The truth about Christian community is that it is complex, it is sometimes inconsistent, it demands a lot of those who want to be a part of it, and it is irreplaceable.  Dietrich Bonhoeffer spoke eloquently on these things in his little book called “Life Together.” 

Bonhoeffer was a German pastor, theologian, and martyr, who is dearly remembered for his faith and courage. In 1933, Bonhoeffer was in Berlin, teaching theology to seminarians. This was the year Hitler became chancellor. At that time, Germany was, like most of Europe, almost entirely Christian. But there was real pressure put on the German church by Hitler’s government, efforts to consolidate the German protestant churches into one pro-Nazi church that would be under their control.

Bonhoeffer was one of the few who would not cooperate. He moved abroad, accepting a call to serve two German congregations in London. But soon he was called back to Germany to take a leadership role in the resistance movement, the Confessing Church.

He took charge of a new underground seminary for the Confessing Church. They lived together, a beloved community in the midst of enemies; and during this time, he wrote the book, Life Together.

Bonhoeffer wrote that “Christianity means community through Jesus Christ and in Jesus Christ. No Christian community is more or less than this…We belong to one another only through and in Jesus Christ.”

The connection we have to one another in the church, then, is only through our connection to Christ. But this means we have one another, wholly and for all eternity, through Christ. In short, to belong to Christ is to belong to the whole community of Christ. And this makes the relationships in the church something different from any other human relationships.

The danger, however, is to idealize it. And we do that often. Many times, I have heard someone cry out in anger that people in the church are no different from people anywhere else. Sadly true. We do all the things I mentioned earlier: we act selfishly. We judge others. We are difficult, and it truly can be a disappointment to discover that. But – here’s the catch – our wish for more than that, Bonhoeffer says, may be harmful to the church.

Many Christian communities have been destroyed by what he calls wish dreams. When Christians come together to form a church and bring with them very definite ideas about what Christian life together should be, very soon the dream will be shattered. People will hurt one another, offend one another; they will become disillusioned with one another.

They may leave. They may go out in search of another church, a purer church where they can more fully and joyfully worship God. Most likely, they will again be disappointed. Why? Because they love their dream of a perfect community more than they love the community itself.

Christian community, Bonhoeffer says, “is not an ideal which we must realize; it is rather a reality created by God in Christ in which we may participate.” It is a gift of the Holy Spirit.

We are in communion with one another only by virtue of being in communion with Christ.  We belong to one another and are members of one another only insofar as we belong to Christ.

This business of being in authentic Christian community is not an easy thing. It is mysterious, hard, and it is precious.  There is much to contemplate here, and over the next few weeks we will be looking at this gift of community: how we accept it, unpack it, and live in it. 

We will look at eating together, listening together, praying together, and confessing together.  And in the process, it is my hope that –

We truly see one another as fellow members of the body of Christ;

We discover new blessings in our life together;

We all draw nearer to Jesus Christ our Lord.  

Photo by Shane Rounce on Unsplash