Other Worlds

 A sermon preached with the people of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California.

Just before we’re dropped into today’s Gospel story, Jesus has picked up a child and he has said, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

I imagine the child is still in Jesus’s arms when John breaks in with some real tattletale energy. “Hey Jesssusss, … we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.”

So in review. Our friend John is reporting that a man was doing (ostensibly effective) healing work in the community in the name of Jesus. And John’s problem is that this man doesn’t follow us. John doesn’t say he doesn’t follow “you, Jesus.” He says, “he doesn’t follow us.” In other words, he’s new. He’s different. He doesn’t know how we do things. He hasn’t been properly instructed. He’s not in our crowd, Jesus. He’s not in our ... church, Jesus.

And Jesus has really had it. He says, “It would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea … it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell.”

It is widely understood that Jesus was not being literal here. This is hyperbole. This is “do not even try it,” “you do not want to find out,” kind of language. It is strong and violent language. Meant to get our attention. It worked for us this morning, didn’t it??

So yes. Jesus is frustrated. Angry, even. Because this man is out there doing good work in his name; and as a result, he is put down, ostracized, excluded, reported. By other people doing good work in his name.

There are so many ways of following Jesus. And yet already, at this early stage, during Jesus’ earthly ministry, people are starting to think there might be a right way. And it looks like the way we do it. And they are already deciding that we will do it on our own.

I recently read a book called Circle of Hope. It was written by Eliza Griswold, who is a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, and also happens to be the daughter of former Episcopal Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold.

The book is an account of her time covering the story of a cluster of churches in Philadelphia called Circle of Hope. These churches are a part of what’s known as the “evangelical left.” Progressive churches in the evangelical church tradition.

As I started to read, I began to recognize in the experience of these church leaders, particularly through those pandemic years, my own experience. And I started to feel something like shame stirring in me  Because I realized I had come to this book expecting to read about those people. That man. Casting out demons in Jesus’ name and not following …  us. I heard “Evangelical” even paired with the word “left,” and I assumed something profound would be missing.

 “It would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea,” I hear Jesus say.

Because what I found instead was that nothing was missing. What I found was a group of creative and passionate people with big hearts; building community, doing good in the world, caring for one another, in Jesus’ name. What I found was complicated people in complicated community sometimes hurting one another deeply, trying their best and failing often. While knowing, always, that when it was good, it was the very best. In other words, what I found was church.

The most significant difference I found between my experience and the experience of leaders at Circle of Hope really, in the end, was about style. Matters of the surface. Toward the end of her time with Circle of Hope (and, it turned out, the end of Circle of Hope itself), Bishop Griswold died. And Eliza Grizwold was surprised to see Julie, one of the Circle of Hope pastors she had come to know, in attendance at her father’s funeral.

 She writes, “As I was leaving the church … I glanced into the forest of mourners and was startled to catch sight of Julie, in a black blouse and pants, more formal than anything I’d ever seen her wear, amid the clogs and patched jeans common at Circle. She cracked when I saw her. So did I. I hadn’t imagined her visiting my world, and yet here she was, mourning the loss of a man she’d never met …”

One world and another world, maybe. But the differences were surface. What they shared was the very center: the love of God.

Two weeks ago, I left St. John’s to the sound of young people filling the air. It was this year’s first meeting of our youth group, which has (thanks to Director of Children and Families Lori Robinson) been opened up to our friends at Montclair Presbyterian and Lake Merritt United Methodist Church. I was headed to Lake Merritt UMC, where a newly-formed group called Oakland Churches Together was showing a film about Christian Nationalism. The group is made up of leaders from several churches of different denominations in Oakland. The film was well-attended, and fascinating, and it made for excellent conversation. And, I loved seeing materials inviting young people to our shared youth group on a table as I entered the room. The pastor and youth volunteer and I spoke about how good this feels.

It was the same feeling I got when I stood with our faith-based community organizing partner Genesis a few weeks ago. Some of us in the group gathered there were from St. John’s and some from “different worlds.” Different Episcopal Churches, and different “brands” of Christianity. Standing for God’s justice in our community. For access to public transit for the people who need it most. For decisions that care for God’s creation.  I think that feeling is about sharing the very center: God’s love.

We find ourselves in a time not unlike that of the early church. For them, Christendom — a time of power and prominence for Christianity — was years ahead. For us, particularly here in the Bay Area, that time is in the rearview mirror. The days when sports and other activities keep Sunday morning off the schedule are behind us. The days when church membership was assumed or even unsurprising are behind us. 

And. I don’t think that’s a bad thing! Because we are now in a position to be in the business of enacting God’s vision for us, and not in the business of cultural power and privilege.

But, that message of God’s vision of hope and love and justice is hard to get through amidst the noise of this world. It is the very best message there is. The love of God for all people. But the chaos of the present moment along with the dominance of a message that would add an asterisk to the word “all” are very loud.

And I hear the Spirit responding by whispering (or maybe yelling), “you can’t do this alone.”  

The church – our church — is not in decline. Don’t believe that hype when you hear it. The church is transforming. And I believe, more and more, that it is being transformed into something far more focused on collaboration and far less insistent on autonomy. On doing it by ourselves.

And this is also good news. Because I think it gets us closer to following Jesus’s stern instruction this morning. Which is actually pretty simple. That child he was holding could probably understand it. If we support one another. If we work together and are at peace with one another. If we let go of our notions of the right way or the better way to follow Jesus. If we pull away those stumbling blocks that keep us from visiting one another’s “worlds.” We will thrive in that space at the very center: God’s love.