Proper 26/Pentecost 24/Ordinary Time 31
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VII, Cycle C
Object:
Theme For The Day
As Christians, we are called to use our presence -- how and with whom we spend our time -- as a form of witness.
Old Testament Lesson
Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4
The View From The Watchtower
The prophet Habakkuk struggles to make theological sense of the rise of Babylon, the mighty empire that threatens to overpower Judah. There is a certain frustration in calling out to a Lord who appears not to answer (1:2), who has allowed the law to become "slack, [so that] justice never prevails" (v. 4). In verse 6 (omitted from this week's selection), it becomes clear that the Lord is behind the rise of Babylon ("the Chaldeans"). In chapter 2, Habbakuk assumes the classic prophetic stance of a sentinel on a watchtower. From this vantage point, he will surely receive the "vision for the appointed time" (v. 3). This book is a vivid dialogue between the prophet and the Lord. He issues his complaint, then waits for the Lord to respond.
New Testament Lesson
2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12
The Buoyant Faith Of Survivors
This week begins a three-week series from 2 Thessalonians. If ever there were a defanged lectionary passage, it is today's selection. The lectionary editors have chosen the warm opening words of this letter, and welded them onto an equally warm and affirming passage from later in the chapter (vv. 11-12). What they have excised are harsh words about the inevitability of God's judgment, along with vivid depictions of "flaming fire" and "eternal destruction." In verse 4, Paul refers to "persecutions and ... afflictions" that are being endured by the Thessalonians. His vivid depiction of divine judgment in verses 5-10 makes sense in this context: for always, in the Bible, apocalyptic imagery speaks most vividly to those who have suffered, and are suffering. A possible preaching angle would be to contrast Paul's observation that the Thessalonians' faith and love are growing (v. 3) with his frank acknowledgment of the reality of "persecutions and afflictions" (v. 4). Comfortable, affluent people tend to associate faith with the sort of ease and abundance they consider to be their birthright. A quick glance into the life of first-century Christians is a powerful reminder that faith thrives in spite of hard times.
The Gospel
Luke 19:1-10
Jesus And Zacchaeus
This story -- a favorite of children, for no other reason than Zaccheaus' short stature -- reflects the classic Lukan theme of Jesus' mission to the outcast and downtrodden. Considerable background is needed in order to explain that tax collectors in Jesus' day were hated collaborators with the Roman authorities. Not only had they betrayed their own nation, but they also worked within -- and profited handsomely from -- a corrupt system that allowed them to charge virtually whatever commissions they wished, as long as they came up with the quota the Romans demanded. Imagine a mafia capo who has so ingratiated himself with the local authorities that he's immune from prosecution, and you'll begin to get the idea. As despicable as Zacchaeus is, his conversion is heartfelt and complete: his offer of fourfold restitution (v. 8) is extravagant. The Zacchaeus story raises the question of whether there is ever anyone who is beyond the reach of God's grace. Luke's answer to that question is, "No."
Preaching Possibilities
Poor Zacchaeus! He wants to see Jesus but can't. He is a small man, and he can't see through the crowd. So he climbs a tree.
Poor Zacchaeus -- or is he? Luke tells us Zacchaeus is the superintendent of taxes. He is anything but poor, in a material sense. Zacchaeus is possibly the richest man in town. More than that, his riches are ill-gotten.
To the people of Jericho, tax collectors like Zacchaeus are something like extortionists and loan sharks rolled into one. The Roman governor levies an annual tax assessment on the whole district, and the chief tax collector is responsible for coming up with the money -- any way he can. No one really knows what the tax code is -- what is taxable, and for how much. Those laws are made far away, in Rome. If you live in first-century Palestine, the simple truth is that what the tax collector asks for, you give him. And if you don't have the money, he'll be happy to lend it to you -- at a "reasonable" rate of interest. If the tax collector happens to collect more money than the assessment -- and somehow he always does -- he gets to keep the difference.
It's a pretty lucrative racket -- and as the top man in the City of Jericho Department of Revenue, Zacchaeus has done pretty well for himself. He's had to pay a certain price socially -- people say things behind his back; he's banned from the synagogue; the Pharisees won't so much as let the hem of their robes touch him -- but the "good life" of fine clothes and rich food and a big house in the new suburb at the edge of town more than make up for lack of friends.
That's what Zacchaeus thinks to himself, anyway, at least most of the time. But when he hears that Jesus of Nazareth is coming to Jericho -- Jesus, the religious teacher who (they say) talks to tax collectors and sinners -- Zacchaeus feels an unexpected loneliness well up inside. Usually he wouldn't give in to such a feeling. He's a loner, after all: tough and calloused when it comes to feelings. But there's something about this Jesus that draws Zacchaeus out.
So he slips out of his house and goes down to Main Street, where everyone else is waiting -- but there are too many people there: an unruly mob, pushing and shoving. And they would love to push and shove the superintendent of taxes.
So Zacchaeus goes further down the road and climbs a tree -- but it isn't long before the crowd, moving along ahead of Jesus, catches up with him. Before Zacchaeus can do anything about it, he's surrounded.
"Just sit quietly," he says to himself, "maybe they won't notice." But they do. And suddenly he's the entertainment, the warm-up act for Jesus' latest tour. The people laugh and point. Some of the children start to throw stones. Zacchaeus climbs to the next higher limb, but the branch starts to bend. The people laugh harder. The superintendent of taxes up a tree: what a rare sight!
But then abruptly they turn away: Jesus has arrived. Someone whispers to Jesus that it's the superintendent of taxes perched in the tree, like a parakeet. Jesus looks up at the superintendent of taxes in his undignified roost, and says, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down. I'm staying in your house today."
We can well imagine what they were talking about in the taverns and inns of Jericho that night. If Jesus had been running for mayor, his campaign manager would have resigned. Jesus made a big impact on Jericho and it had nothing to do with anything he said or did. It had everything to do with where Jesus chose to spend his time. The writer, Frederick Buechner, has called this story "the gospel in sycamore -- the best and oldest joke in the world." The joke was on the good people of Jericho.
Jesus communicated more love and forgiveness and caring by staying in the house of Zacchaeus than by any teaching or sermon he could have given. The fact that he was there said it all.
Christian presence is a rare thing. It's almost a forgotten virtue. Simple human presence is rare enough these days. We so value our individualism and our self-sufficiency that sometimes we fail to reach out to those around us, neglecting to offer even the most basic human courtesies.
Just because we are Christians does not guarantee that we're good practitioners of Christian presence. In fact, people who study evangelism and church growth tell us that a lack of this sort of genuine, human presence is a major reason people leave churches: by the back door, not the front. They leave not because they're turned off or angry, but simply because their hearts have not been warmed by human fellowship. Some of the most evangelism-conscious churches are the worst offenders -- they make a great fuss over new members on their first visit and when they join, but afterward there's no meaningful Christian presence.
We need to be present to each other -- in our homes, in our workplaces, in our church. We need to take time to simply be there. This is especially important in times of personal difficulty, such as bereavement.
Often, in such situations, we wonder what we could possibly say that will bring comfort. The simple fact is, there's nothing anyone can say to a grieving person that will make everything all right. The kind of speeches and platitudes we're inclined to practice on the way to the funeral ring hollow, if we're so foolish as to open our mouths and say them.
There's nothing we can really do, either. We can't bring the loved one back. We can't anesthetize the broken heart with some miracle drug. But in situations of the greatest pain and heartache we can give a gift that's more desired than any other: we can be there.
The presence of a Christian in a home of grief can be a powerful source of comfort and strength. A grieving person feels a lot like Zacchaeus: up a tree, conspicuous, cut off from the rest of the community. Just showing up on the doorstep with a casserole in hand says to the person, "I recognize your grief, and I want you to know I'm with you." It's so simple -- and yet so meaningful.
God calls us to practice the presence of a Christian. All around us are the Zacchaeuses of the world -- up their trees, at the fringes of the crowd. Some are near at hand; some are far away. Can we be truly present to them?
Prayer For The Day
We offer our hands to you, O God:
may our healing touch comfort those who are wounded or afraid.
We offer our eyes to you, O God:
may we learn to see invisible needs around us.
We offer our ears to you, O God:
may we listen to the deepest thing that others have to say.
We offer our hearts and our tears to you, O God:
may we be strong to let the hurt and sorrow of others echo within us.
We offer all our skills:
use our gifts to minister to others.
We offer our faith, our hope, and our love:
may we share them with others -- freely, faithfully, extravagantly.
We ask this through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.
To Illustrate
It's hard to be there for a bereaved person because death is a taboo area for our culture. There are other taboo areas too: like divorce. The psychologists tell us that going through a divorce is a lot like going through bereavement. The feelings of grief and loss are very much the same -- but it's even harder for someone experiencing divorce to feel the meaningful presence of a fellow Christian. A five-year-old boy expressed it best when he asked his divorcing mother, "Daddy's gone, but where are all the neighbors with the food?"
Those who are faced with this new loneliness and grief deeply need the presence of a Christian -- but what do we give them? All too often, judgment. They ask for bread, and we give them stones. And all they wanted was our presence. A shoulder to lean on. A listening ear.
Or take unemployment. When friends or neighbors lose jobs -- as is all too apt to happen these days -- do we take extra pains to be present to them? Too often, unemployed people become third wheels socially. We don't invite them to parties because we can't introduce them by saying what they do for a living. So they don't go to parties. They stay behind closed doors.
Or they try to keep up pretenses. Once there was an advertising executive who persuaded his company, after they had fired him, to let him come into the office every morning as usual, but without pay. To all the world it looked like everything was normal -- but inside the office, he was doing nothing but sending out his resume. All this was to keep his colleagues in the business from finding out he'd been the victim of a "corporate restructuring." How much easier it would have been if his colleagues had been willing to be truly present to him, without forcing him up a tree!
***
Jesus' willingness to be present to Zacchaeus ends up being an act of evangelism. His encounter with the Savior changes his life.
There's a lot of nonsense going on these days that passes for evangelism -- and it's nonsense because it has nothing to do with the presence of a Christian. So much of so-called evangelism these days has to do with passing on a message, a set of propositional statements. And because its sole content is a message, it doesn't much matter how the message goes out: over the airwaves, or in print, or in person ("Just put the tract in their hands and maybe they'll read it").
The philosopher, Alfred North Whitehead, has said, "People are not persuaded by our reasoning, but caught by our enthusiasms." You can't spread enthusiasm in any way but presence. More than that, it's got to be presence that means something, a genuine willingness to say to another, "This is who I am" -- not "This is how you ought to be." It's also got to be a presence in service, an opening of ourselves to the other in a genuine desire to help, a making ourselves available to the other. Look at what Jesus said to Zacchaeus: He didn't say, "Stop gouging the public with your tax collection methods"; he said, "I'm going to visit with you tonight." Jesus came and served Zacchaeus, he didn't try to master him. He came selling nothing -- but offering himself for free.
It doesn't take a lot of special training or skills to be an effective evangelist. What it does take is a graceful, serving presence. In evangelism, you can have a theological argument like a steel trap, but if you don't have a warm handshake and an honest, open smile, you've got nothing. Ultimately, the most important thing is simply to be there -- and to be willing to serve.
***
At an international church meeting some years ago, a small group of Christians from all over the world was engaged in a role-playing game. They were trying to mimic how they came across to each other. A church leader from Africa drew the slip of paper that said, "Act like an American Christian." He put on a cowboy hat and went around to everyone else in the room, saying "Howdy! Sorry about your problem. Here's my card. I'll send money."
Listen to what he's saying to us, which goes something like this: "The money may be there, and that's helpful, but too often the presence is not. We yearn for you rich North Americans to understand what it's like to live as we live, to face the problems we face. We yearn for your presence, not your dollars at arm's length."
There's another word for this kind of presence: "solidarity." Solidarity means standing together -- standing with people different from ourselves, knowing how they live, feeling something of what they feel. Solidarity is the presence of a Christian in mission.
***
In Scotland, every town of any age has in its town square a "mercat cross." In the old days, the mercat cross used to be a crucifix; but during the Reformation they broke the tops off them, so they became simply upright shafts. In many towns, the local authorities placed a crown or a royal coat of arms atop what used to be the upright cross shaft. Symbolically, the cross had been taken over by the world.
In the 1930s, a minister named George Macleod founded the Iona Community, an ecumenical group of committed ministers and church members. Ever since, the Iona Community has called the church back to peace and justice -- and a serving presence -- in the world. In a famous sermon, George Macleod spoke of the need to return the cross to the center of the town; that "the Cross be raised again at the center of the marketplace as well as on the steeple of the church." He said:
I am recovering the claim that Jesus was not crucified in a cathedral between two candles, but on a cross between two thieves; on the town garbage heap; at a crossroad so cosmopolitan they had to write his title in Hebrew and in Latin and in Greek (or shall we say in English, in Bantu and in Afrikaans?); at the kind of place where cynics talk smut, and thieves curse, and soldiers gamble. Because that is where he died. And that is what he died about. And that is where church people should be and what church membership should be all about.
Jesus comes to us -- as he came to Zacchaeus -- in the marketplace. In Christ, God is present right where we are, in everyday life.
***
Consolation is a beautiful word. It means "to be" (con-) "with the lonely one" (solus). To offer consolation is one of the most important ways to care. Life is so full of pain, sadness, and loneliness that we often wonder what we can do to alleviate the immense suffering we see. We can and must offer consolation. We can and must console the mother who lost her child, the young person with AIDS, the family whose house burned down, the soldier who was wounded, the teenager who contemplates suicide, the old man who wonders why he should stay alive.
To console does not mean to take away the pain but rather to be there and say, "You are not alone, I am with you. Together we can carry the burden. Don't be afraid. I am here." That is consolation. We all need to give it as well as to receive it.
-- Henri J. M. Nouwen, Bread for the Journey (New York: Harper Collins, 1997)
As Christians, we are called to use our presence -- how and with whom we spend our time -- as a form of witness.
Old Testament Lesson
Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4
The View From The Watchtower
The prophet Habakkuk struggles to make theological sense of the rise of Babylon, the mighty empire that threatens to overpower Judah. There is a certain frustration in calling out to a Lord who appears not to answer (1:2), who has allowed the law to become "slack, [so that] justice never prevails" (v. 4). In verse 6 (omitted from this week's selection), it becomes clear that the Lord is behind the rise of Babylon ("the Chaldeans"). In chapter 2, Habbakuk assumes the classic prophetic stance of a sentinel on a watchtower. From this vantage point, he will surely receive the "vision for the appointed time" (v. 3). This book is a vivid dialogue between the prophet and the Lord. He issues his complaint, then waits for the Lord to respond.
New Testament Lesson
2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12
The Buoyant Faith Of Survivors
This week begins a three-week series from 2 Thessalonians. If ever there were a defanged lectionary passage, it is today's selection. The lectionary editors have chosen the warm opening words of this letter, and welded them onto an equally warm and affirming passage from later in the chapter (vv. 11-12). What they have excised are harsh words about the inevitability of God's judgment, along with vivid depictions of "flaming fire" and "eternal destruction." In verse 4, Paul refers to "persecutions and ... afflictions" that are being endured by the Thessalonians. His vivid depiction of divine judgment in verses 5-10 makes sense in this context: for always, in the Bible, apocalyptic imagery speaks most vividly to those who have suffered, and are suffering. A possible preaching angle would be to contrast Paul's observation that the Thessalonians' faith and love are growing (v. 3) with his frank acknowledgment of the reality of "persecutions and afflictions" (v. 4). Comfortable, affluent people tend to associate faith with the sort of ease and abundance they consider to be their birthright. A quick glance into the life of first-century Christians is a powerful reminder that faith thrives in spite of hard times.
The Gospel
Luke 19:1-10
Jesus And Zacchaeus
This story -- a favorite of children, for no other reason than Zaccheaus' short stature -- reflects the classic Lukan theme of Jesus' mission to the outcast and downtrodden. Considerable background is needed in order to explain that tax collectors in Jesus' day were hated collaborators with the Roman authorities. Not only had they betrayed their own nation, but they also worked within -- and profited handsomely from -- a corrupt system that allowed them to charge virtually whatever commissions they wished, as long as they came up with the quota the Romans demanded. Imagine a mafia capo who has so ingratiated himself with the local authorities that he's immune from prosecution, and you'll begin to get the idea. As despicable as Zacchaeus is, his conversion is heartfelt and complete: his offer of fourfold restitution (v. 8) is extravagant. The Zacchaeus story raises the question of whether there is ever anyone who is beyond the reach of God's grace. Luke's answer to that question is, "No."
Preaching Possibilities
Poor Zacchaeus! He wants to see Jesus but can't. He is a small man, and he can't see through the crowd. So he climbs a tree.
Poor Zacchaeus -- or is he? Luke tells us Zacchaeus is the superintendent of taxes. He is anything but poor, in a material sense. Zacchaeus is possibly the richest man in town. More than that, his riches are ill-gotten.
To the people of Jericho, tax collectors like Zacchaeus are something like extortionists and loan sharks rolled into one. The Roman governor levies an annual tax assessment on the whole district, and the chief tax collector is responsible for coming up with the money -- any way he can. No one really knows what the tax code is -- what is taxable, and for how much. Those laws are made far away, in Rome. If you live in first-century Palestine, the simple truth is that what the tax collector asks for, you give him. And if you don't have the money, he'll be happy to lend it to you -- at a "reasonable" rate of interest. If the tax collector happens to collect more money than the assessment -- and somehow he always does -- he gets to keep the difference.
It's a pretty lucrative racket -- and as the top man in the City of Jericho Department of Revenue, Zacchaeus has done pretty well for himself. He's had to pay a certain price socially -- people say things behind his back; he's banned from the synagogue; the Pharisees won't so much as let the hem of their robes touch him -- but the "good life" of fine clothes and rich food and a big house in the new suburb at the edge of town more than make up for lack of friends.
That's what Zacchaeus thinks to himself, anyway, at least most of the time. But when he hears that Jesus of Nazareth is coming to Jericho -- Jesus, the religious teacher who (they say) talks to tax collectors and sinners -- Zacchaeus feels an unexpected loneliness well up inside. Usually he wouldn't give in to such a feeling. He's a loner, after all: tough and calloused when it comes to feelings. But there's something about this Jesus that draws Zacchaeus out.
So he slips out of his house and goes down to Main Street, where everyone else is waiting -- but there are too many people there: an unruly mob, pushing and shoving. And they would love to push and shove the superintendent of taxes.
So Zacchaeus goes further down the road and climbs a tree -- but it isn't long before the crowd, moving along ahead of Jesus, catches up with him. Before Zacchaeus can do anything about it, he's surrounded.
"Just sit quietly," he says to himself, "maybe they won't notice." But they do. And suddenly he's the entertainment, the warm-up act for Jesus' latest tour. The people laugh and point. Some of the children start to throw stones. Zacchaeus climbs to the next higher limb, but the branch starts to bend. The people laugh harder. The superintendent of taxes up a tree: what a rare sight!
But then abruptly they turn away: Jesus has arrived. Someone whispers to Jesus that it's the superintendent of taxes perched in the tree, like a parakeet. Jesus looks up at the superintendent of taxes in his undignified roost, and says, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down. I'm staying in your house today."
We can well imagine what they were talking about in the taverns and inns of Jericho that night. If Jesus had been running for mayor, his campaign manager would have resigned. Jesus made a big impact on Jericho and it had nothing to do with anything he said or did. It had everything to do with where Jesus chose to spend his time. The writer, Frederick Buechner, has called this story "the gospel in sycamore -- the best and oldest joke in the world." The joke was on the good people of Jericho.
Jesus communicated more love and forgiveness and caring by staying in the house of Zacchaeus than by any teaching or sermon he could have given. The fact that he was there said it all.
Christian presence is a rare thing. It's almost a forgotten virtue. Simple human presence is rare enough these days. We so value our individualism and our self-sufficiency that sometimes we fail to reach out to those around us, neglecting to offer even the most basic human courtesies.
Just because we are Christians does not guarantee that we're good practitioners of Christian presence. In fact, people who study evangelism and church growth tell us that a lack of this sort of genuine, human presence is a major reason people leave churches: by the back door, not the front. They leave not because they're turned off or angry, but simply because their hearts have not been warmed by human fellowship. Some of the most evangelism-conscious churches are the worst offenders -- they make a great fuss over new members on their first visit and when they join, but afterward there's no meaningful Christian presence.
We need to be present to each other -- in our homes, in our workplaces, in our church. We need to take time to simply be there. This is especially important in times of personal difficulty, such as bereavement.
Often, in such situations, we wonder what we could possibly say that will bring comfort. The simple fact is, there's nothing anyone can say to a grieving person that will make everything all right. The kind of speeches and platitudes we're inclined to practice on the way to the funeral ring hollow, if we're so foolish as to open our mouths and say them.
There's nothing we can really do, either. We can't bring the loved one back. We can't anesthetize the broken heart with some miracle drug. But in situations of the greatest pain and heartache we can give a gift that's more desired than any other: we can be there.
The presence of a Christian in a home of grief can be a powerful source of comfort and strength. A grieving person feels a lot like Zacchaeus: up a tree, conspicuous, cut off from the rest of the community. Just showing up on the doorstep with a casserole in hand says to the person, "I recognize your grief, and I want you to know I'm with you." It's so simple -- and yet so meaningful.
God calls us to practice the presence of a Christian. All around us are the Zacchaeuses of the world -- up their trees, at the fringes of the crowd. Some are near at hand; some are far away. Can we be truly present to them?
Prayer For The Day
We offer our hands to you, O God:
may our healing touch comfort those who are wounded or afraid.
We offer our eyes to you, O God:
may we learn to see invisible needs around us.
We offer our ears to you, O God:
may we listen to the deepest thing that others have to say.
We offer our hearts and our tears to you, O God:
may we be strong to let the hurt and sorrow of others echo within us.
We offer all our skills:
use our gifts to minister to others.
We offer our faith, our hope, and our love:
may we share them with others -- freely, faithfully, extravagantly.
We ask this through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.
To Illustrate
It's hard to be there for a bereaved person because death is a taboo area for our culture. There are other taboo areas too: like divorce. The psychologists tell us that going through a divorce is a lot like going through bereavement. The feelings of grief and loss are very much the same -- but it's even harder for someone experiencing divorce to feel the meaningful presence of a fellow Christian. A five-year-old boy expressed it best when he asked his divorcing mother, "Daddy's gone, but where are all the neighbors with the food?"
Those who are faced with this new loneliness and grief deeply need the presence of a Christian -- but what do we give them? All too often, judgment. They ask for bread, and we give them stones. And all they wanted was our presence. A shoulder to lean on. A listening ear.
Or take unemployment. When friends or neighbors lose jobs -- as is all too apt to happen these days -- do we take extra pains to be present to them? Too often, unemployed people become third wheels socially. We don't invite them to parties because we can't introduce them by saying what they do for a living. So they don't go to parties. They stay behind closed doors.
Or they try to keep up pretenses. Once there was an advertising executive who persuaded his company, after they had fired him, to let him come into the office every morning as usual, but without pay. To all the world it looked like everything was normal -- but inside the office, he was doing nothing but sending out his resume. All this was to keep his colleagues in the business from finding out he'd been the victim of a "corporate restructuring." How much easier it would have been if his colleagues had been willing to be truly present to him, without forcing him up a tree!
***
Jesus' willingness to be present to Zacchaeus ends up being an act of evangelism. His encounter with the Savior changes his life.
There's a lot of nonsense going on these days that passes for evangelism -- and it's nonsense because it has nothing to do with the presence of a Christian. So much of so-called evangelism these days has to do with passing on a message, a set of propositional statements. And because its sole content is a message, it doesn't much matter how the message goes out: over the airwaves, or in print, or in person ("Just put the tract in their hands and maybe they'll read it").
The philosopher, Alfred North Whitehead, has said, "People are not persuaded by our reasoning, but caught by our enthusiasms." You can't spread enthusiasm in any way but presence. More than that, it's got to be presence that means something, a genuine willingness to say to another, "This is who I am" -- not "This is how you ought to be." It's also got to be a presence in service, an opening of ourselves to the other in a genuine desire to help, a making ourselves available to the other. Look at what Jesus said to Zacchaeus: He didn't say, "Stop gouging the public with your tax collection methods"; he said, "I'm going to visit with you tonight." Jesus came and served Zacchaeus, he didn't try to master him. He came selling nothing -- but offering himself for free.
It doesn't take a lot of special training or skills to be an effective evangelist. What it does take is a graceful, serving presence. In evangelism, you can have a theological argument like a steel trap, but if you don't have a warm handshake and an honest, open smile, you've got nothing. Ultimately, the most important thing is simply to be there -- and to be willing to serve.
***
At an international church meeting some years ago, a small group of Christians from all over the world was engaged in a role-playing game. They were trying to mimic how they came across to each other. A church leader from Africa drew the slip of paper that said, "Act like an American Christian." He put on a cowboy hat and went around to everyone else in the room, saying "Howdy! Sorry about your problem. Here's my card. I'll send money."
Listen to what he's saying to us, which goes something like this: "The money may be there, and that's helpful, but too often the presence is not. We yearn for you rich North Americans to understand what it's like to live as we live, to face the problems we face. We yearn for your presence, not your dollars at arm's length."
There's another word for this kind of presence: "solidarity." Solidarity means standing together -- standing with people different from ourselves, knowing how they live, feeling something of what they feel. Solidarity is the presence of a Christian in mission.
***
In Scotland, every town of any age has in its town square a "mercat cross." In the old days, the mercat cross used to be a crucifix; but during the Reformation they broke the tops off them, so they became simply upright shafts. In many towns, the local authorities placed a crown or a royal coat of arms atop what used to be the upright cross shaft. Symbolically, the cross had been taken over by the world.
In the 1930s, a minister named George Macleod founded the Iona Community, an ecumenical group of committed ministers and church members. Ever since, the Iona Community has called the church back to peace and justice -- and a serving presence -- in the world. In a famous sermon, George Macleod spoke of the need to return the cross to the center of the town; that "the Cross be raised again at the center of the marketplace as well as on the steeple of the church." He said:
I am recovering the claim that Jesus was not crucified in a cathedral between two candles, but on a cross between two thieves; on the town garbage heap; at a crossroad so cosmopolitan they had to write his title in Hebrew and in Latin and in Greek (or shall we say in English, in Bantu and in Afrikaans?); at the kind of place where cynics talk smut, and thieves curse, and soldiers gamble. Because that is where he died. And that is what he died about. And that is where church people should be and what church membership should be all about.
Jesus comes to us -- as he came to Zacchaeus -- in the marketplace. In Christ, God is present right where we are, in everyday life.
***
Consolation is a beautiful word. It means "to be" (con-) "with the lonely one" (solus). To offer consolation is one of the most important ways to care. Life is so full of pain, sadness, and loneliness that we often wonder what we can do to alleviate the immense suffering we see. We can and must offer consolation. We can and must console the mother who lost her child, the young person with AIDS, the family whose house burned down, the soldier who was wounded, the teenager who contemplates suicide, the old man who wonders why he should stay alive.
To console does not mean to take away the pain but rather to be there and say, "You are not alone, I am with you. Together we can carry the burden. Don't be afraid. I am here." That is consolation. We all need to give it as well as to receive it.
-- Henri J. M. Nouwen, Bread for the Journey (New York: Harper Collins, 1997)
