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Some people aren't comfortable with this passage because it seems to them to be a forerunner of certain social systems which are unpopular in this country: socialism, communism, communes in general. However, let's remind ourselves that this experiment in communal living pre-dates all those unpopular living styles by many centuries. These were people who were still euphoric from the recent infusion of the Holy Spirit. Filled with love for the people around them in life, they wanted to share. They were compassionate toward those who hadn't enough, and generous to the point they were willing to give up their hard-earned possessions for the sake of the needy. We would be petty indeed to find fault with that. The problem is, of course, they were later to discover that although the Holy Spirit does bring a new dimension of sacrificial love, it doesn't immediately do away with selfishness and self-interest. Even the best of us are prone to feel the promptings of those lesser motivations. The Bible uses the word "sin" to describe this human characteristic. The time would come when a realistic appraisal of this well-intentioned style of life would necessitate a major adjustment to reality. In fact, we have here a forerunner of the Church.

Let's think for a bit about the close association of basically good people which comes to mind when we contemplate the Church. In fact, one could say there are two "Churches." There's the Church as a grand creation of God, "spread out through all time and space and rooted in eternity, terrible as an army with banners," as C. S. Lewis described it. Perhaps that's the image of the church we think of when we say the word. But then there's the church, the local church, together with the denominational heirarchy which supports it. That's a different matter. Anyone associated with a congregation soon becomes aware of that problem of sin.

At the outbreak of World War II, a community of westerners living and working in China was interned by the Japanese. Since they were civilians, the Japanese didn't put them in prison camps or mistreat them in the way they would do with military prisoners. But they did place several hundred of them, mainly American and British, in a compound surrounded by barbed wire. There they were destined to live for the next several years, until the war ended. Their captors remained outside the compound, seeing only that a very minimum amount of food was provided and beyond that, leaving these people to shift for themselves. One among them, Dr. Langdon Gilkey, an educator, later wrote a popular book detailing that experience. In the book, Shantung Compound, Gilkey told a fascinating story of human frailty and of human honor and dignity.

When this imprisoned community was first formed, it was assumed the people would occupy more or less the same status they had known when free. That is, the professional and executive classes would run things, down to the semi-skilled people who, it was taken for granted, would do the unpleasant and mundane work. But things were not working out. Some of the heretofore successful people did not respond well to the stress and privation. Many sought special privilege. Some felt they were entitled to unfair shares of food and medical supplies. Surprisingly, the occasional thief was sometimes discovered to be an executive or a highly placed professional. One unforgiveable event occurred after several months when a shipment of food parcels arrived from the American Red Cross. A group of American internees argued that they need not share with their British neighbors since the food came from an American source. Some executive wives who had not previously worked assumed they needn't pitch in and assist in the many difficult tasks which now must be done. Morale was desperately low.

But then others, carpenters, for instance, former janitors perhaps, began to emerge as genuine leaders. Frequently the person sharing meager rations with the sick or hungry children was someone least successful and prosperous in the former life situation. Gilkey said he was amazed to observe a slow but profound re-alignment of station and responsibility based, now, on character and humane courage and sensitivity. And he saw this: The people who rose to the top were the people of Christian faith. This last factor so profoundly affected him that Gilkey later became a respected and articulate teacher of the Christian faith.

The point here is not to cast aspersions on any one group of people. It must be added that in Shantung Compound, many of the most admirable people were, indeed, from the ranks of the most successful. It's simply to recognize that living together in a common bond is not always easy, and that our lesser nature sometimes comes into play to make the church fall sadly short of the image we may conjure in our minds.

This means several things as we turn our thoughts to our own church. It means our expectations must be at once lofty and realistic; lofty, in the sense that to be part of the church is to set high goals for ourselves as we make our contributions; realistic, in the sense that we can't fairly turn away from our churches if we sometimes encounter disappointment. After all, the church is real people gathered together. People like you and me. We often fall short of the standards implied in our text. I recall one small church in an Indiana town which suffered a terrible division because some members wanted to limit the menu at the annual Easter sunrise breakfast to coffee, juice, and doughnuts in place of a traditional breakfast of sausage and eggs. Or a clergy acquaintance of mine was almost forced to leave his church because he wore white socks in worship (he had an affliction which made this necessary).
An ancient document was once found with this sentiment: "The Church is like Noah's Ark; if it weren't for the storm outside, you couldn't stand the smell inside." A pastor friend recently told of a visit to his seminary by a bishop who said he's discovered that there are a few ministers he calls "church destroyers." These are clergy who seem to cause trouble wherever they go. And he said there are a few churches which he calls "pastor crunchers" because no matter how bright and talented and enthusiastic the pastor who is sent there, he or she soon becomes discouraged about ministry and the church. He said some day he's going to appoint a church destroyer to a pastor cruncher, then stand back and see what happens.

It doesn't have to be this way. It's possible for us to move beyond the level of such pettiness, not to be pastor crunchers (or church destroyers), but with every one of us moving toward that loftier form of the church where each is called to earnestly work at being as much as we can like those generous, kind-hearted, sacrificial people in our text. For most of us it may not be completely natural, but it can be. One reason the church is unique is worship. Luke, writing this text, said, "With great power the Apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all." That's what enabled them -- not inherent qualities, sterling as those may have been in some cases. But they were enabled by the Spirit of Jesus, present with them. There's the heart of any church. The presence of the risen Christ, immanent in worship, and in our common life. And Christ is present, too, in the programming of the church, be it youth program, Church School, family suppers, singles programs, mission outreach -- the numerous ways in which we reach out to our world, and at the same time try to live together with integrity and love. It isn't always easy, but it is always possible.

That empowering Spirit makes it possible. When that bishop spoke about "pastor crunching" congregations, he was referring to churches where everyone expects the ministers to do all the ministering. That's not how it is supposed to work The minister plays a part in the overall life of a local congregation, but it's all of us, with our sharing and generosity of spirit and judgment, and our willingness to give -- that's what makes a church the Church.

Some time ago, a distinguished psychotherapist gave an address to a gathering of professional counsellors in a church in Indianapolis. He first frankly stated that he is not a Christian. But he said he'd made an interesting discovery in his years as a therapist. He said that in today's world, one of the significant stress factors in society is the constant uprooting of families as people advance in the corporate ranks. He said the man or woman being promoted moves to a new city with a built-in support group within the corporation. But the rest of the family is often left adrift, separated from old friends, from the familiar scenes of everyday life. He said he's realized that the one place where such people can turn for acceptance, for instant friendships and relationships of high quality, is the church. He said he believes that every church should be working at being a place of redemptive love where newcomers can go and quickly find their place and feel accepted.

That's one example. Setting aside any petty competitive need to have our way, to receive recognition, or redress for imagined slight, instead, to care for each other with love and long-suffering generosity, that's what it would seem Jesus called us to be in the church. There are people for whom this all is natural, and thank God for those blessed souls. For most of us, it's an inward battle with our lesser selves, one we might well lose were it not for that presence of the risen Christ. But that's what the Church is: "the body of Christ." Paul said, "We are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us." This must mean that if the mission of Jesus upon this earth is to succeed, it will have to be through the likes of us. Not easy, but possible. And with all its admitted faults, the Church is the place where all of this is to happen.

There's an old story, familiar, perhaps, but it illustrates what the church is all about. It concerns a newly ordained minister who arrived in a country parish somewhere in a mountainous state. After his first service, an older lady approached him and said, "My husband is a good man, but he refuses to attend church. Would you pay him a visit?" Now experienced pastors know how useless such an effort nearly always proves to be. But this young fellow didn't know about such failure. He agreed, and the next day drove up the mountain to a small home and knocked on the door. A middle-aged man greeted him and wordlessly invited the new pastor in. The gentleman was not much of a talker. "Sit a spell," he said, apparently knowing who his visitor was. It had all been tried before. The two of them sat staring into a blazing fire in the fireplace for some time. At last, the older man said, "Reverend, I know my wife asked you to come. But I don't need no church. I think I'm as good as most of those people who go there. I'm a Christian." Finally, the young pastor wordlessly picked up a pair of tongs and removed a blazing coal from the fire, placing it aside. After a bit, the coal grew dim, then turned to brown ash as it grew cold. Only then, the pastor picked the dead coal up and thrust it into the fire. Soon it was bright and blazing once more. With that, the pastor started for the door. The older man followed him and, as the young man headed for his car, the man called out, "I see what you mean, Reverend. I'll see you in church."

A place where hearts and souls are warmed because we care about each other, take care of each other, and make room for those who come to share the church with us whoever they may be: that's what the church was born to become. It doesn't always happen, but it can happen. Jesus always does his part. All that's needed is for us to do ours.