Author: Sara Palmer

  • Intention’s grasp: for if you love

    This text was converted from the original print edition for full-text searchability. Formatting may differ from the original. Consult the PDF for citation and presentation details.

    Page 47

    Intention’s Grasp: For If You Love

    Ann H. K. Apple and Lizzie Apple

    Idlewild Presbyterian Church, Memphis, Tennessee,

    and Middlebury College, Middlebury, Vermont

    Lizzie grew up sitting in the west transept of the church, nestled next to her little brother Edward, tucked between her parents Margaret and Ed, and within arm’s reach from her grandmother Betty Louis. From that vantage point in the Idlewild sanctuary, Lizzie’s perspective on the pulpit was literally through the baptismal font. In first grade, Lizzie was the strawberry blond child who would race from the transept to sit at the foot of the baptismal font. She would occasionally place her hand on the outstretched hand that reaches from the sculpted font. She would sit wide eyed and obedient as Pastor Steve pulled an infant through the waters ofbaptism. After Pastor Steve says, “See what love Cod has given us that we might be called children of Cod, and so we are,” our congregation welcomes the newest member of the family of faith with the song “Child of Blessing, Child of Promise.” Through elementary , middle, and into high school, Lizzie participated in worship from her seat so close to the font. When she became a senior in high school, nurtured in worship and youth ministry, Lizzie stepped into toe pulpit to preach what she believed. At Idlewild, youth ministry emerges out of an intentionally programmed life of worship, education, and mission. The desire is that youth might see God’s love and claim that they are children of blessing and promise. Two of toe intentional youth ministry programs are a semester-long confirmation ministry for ninth graders and an annual youth led worship. In preparation for preaching on this youth Sunday, high school seniors attend a retreat where they study scripture, pray, play, and exegete toe biblical text. This retreat idea emerged when our youth director determined a need for tenacious commitment as “preaching takes some serious work.” At Idlewild’s youth Sunday worship service, high school seniors are toe preachers and other youth serve as liturgists. One year there might be toree preachers who preach six minute sermons and another year, seven preachers who preach toree to five minute sermons. The process for preparing to preach has a consistent and intentional framework, yet each year brings toe unique creativity and innate imagination of the particular community of youth. For youth at Idlewild, life lived out in toe church is not “sit still and be quiet;” it is “practice and find your voice.” Youth ministry is not conditional; it is intentional. It is not “if you go to church, then God will be good to you.” It is not “if you read your Bible, then God will answer all your prayers.” It is not “if you participate in youth group, then all the kids will be kind to you.” Sometimes things break apart – like families and friends. Sometimes scripture does not make sense and prayers are not answered. Sometimes middle schoolers and teenagers are outright mean and terribly unkind to one another, even in toe church. Hopefully youth ministry creates a space to ask,“Where is God in all ofthis life I’m living?” Hopefully youth ministry creates a safe place for youth to practice their faith, ask hard questions of scripture, and develop healthy relationships. Lizzie and I bear toe same last name, but we are not related. We grew to know one another in toe confirmation ministry, through her writings about people of faith.


    Page 48

    on a youth mission trip to Ei Salvador, and as we worked together preparing for Youth Sunday. 1 learned life was good but not always kind to Lizzie through high school, and sometimes genuine friends weren’t always easy to find. In the church she could close her eyes, cross the threshold into the s^ctuary, place her hand on the porous wall, and move to find that place where her faith is most powerfully formed. Idlewild’s prayer is that through God’s power and intention’s grasp, youth will trust the depth of God’s love and hear a call to serve in ministries of justice and peace. Lizzie’s navigation into a particular place of formation in the house of the Lord is also evidenced in Lizzie’s sermon writing. Lizzie’s senior year Youth Ministry took seven seniors away for a Friday night retreat at the water’s edge, toe same location where they had gone toree years before for a Confirmation Retreat to consider Christ’s ،question to toe disciples after he’d washed their feet: “Do you know what I have done to you?” The preaching retreat began by relinquishing all forms of technology. The seniors remembered the specificity of place and held toe memories formed over time through the church. The seniors checked in with one another asking, “How is it with your life? What are you anxious about? What’s going ٨٠that’s really good?” After checking in, they shared a meal. Afterwards toe seniors moved to a different space and answered the question “If you had to describe to someone your understanding of who God is, how would you do that?” They listened intently with one another, laughed, and sometimes questioned. Their accountability with one another was bom in lasting relationships formed in toe church and the gift of toe resilience of youth. After checking in, toe leaders of the retreat explored toe role of a preacher in proclaiming toe Good News and toe function of a sermon in the Order of Reformed Worship. With the stage set and the commitment made to be preachers for a Lord’s Day, the seniors practiced Lectio Divina ٨٠toe designated lectionary passage. All seniors preach from toe same text. The practice of Lectio Divina surfaces a word ٢٠a phrase that resonates from within each person. With clipboards and pens handed out, the senior preachers are asked to write their word ٢٠phrase ٨٠a tablet. The seniors then identify a gesture that goes with their word ٢٠phrase. Having practiced toe prayer discipline with scripture, written toe word or phrase, toe senior preachers move to memorize toe scripture and set it to movement with simple gestures. The simple gestures are woven together, and toe biblical text channels itself into toe soul of each preacher. After a break toe senior preachers are sent off to begin toe craft of sermon writing. A time boundary is set for writing, and a designated time is set to come back into a group and practice reading before toe group. In toe writing time, the senior preachers are invited to take their word or phrase from scripture and to allow their imaginations to be unleashed. They are encouraged to reflect through stories, memories, ٢٠feelings about their particular word ٢٠passage. When toe senior preachers come together, they read what they have and invite feedback. At toe first reading, Lizzie came with obvious Ginsbergian influence. Mystical musings ٨٠being alive to Christ’s love punctuated her sermon in these strands of seemingly disconnected, yet intimately linked words. In twelve years of preparing for Youth Sunday and in listening to first drafts. I’d never heard quite a piece. Her reading was stunning, and she felt it not enough, turning her eyes down. Her peers and toe ad!11ts in the room sat for a moment in toe sound of sheer silence, awed as

    Journal for Preachers


    Page 49

    we’d listened with a Jae©b-like preacher who was alive to love. Those words she’d heard time and time again from her vantage point at the foot of the baptismal font, “See what love,” came not only baek to ns, but also became abundantly clear. Not only was Lizzie enough, but the words she’d formed from the Word were enough. In original form, her words follow in her sermon from Matthew 5:46. “For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? ٠٥not even the tax collectors do the same?”

    For If You Love We have heard it said that active love is a harsh and fearful thing compared with the love in dreams. Love in dreams wants easy things, wants a soft reaching eagerness , and above all wants to be watched. This kind of love we all carry. ةارآ there is different love, and love to labor for. Uncomfortable love— love to be borrowed from. Love for foe people in each of our comers of foe universe not transcended by idea ٢٠by the dream to be kind. Love for foe human places raking broken past us. Conscious, opened love, broad endless person stuffed of all pain and all good. Compassion for foe crooked suffering broken things. Compassion in foe ragged relationship between unlocked souls, compassion after the misdeeds, and compassion keeping with even our closest guilt. 1 want this love, want it not for my good, but despite all fault. 1 want to be known from that secret, fragile core of me. And wifo it then, 1 want to know foe world strung out around. 1 want questions, 1 want reality, 1 want Cod— and 1 do not want comfort. 1 want foe voice of my own soul, its ghosts and blushes, all foe fumbling spirit and kneeled down prayers. 1 want to cross that threshold like salt, weary, wind-roasted, whole to taste. 1 W’ant to labor into loving foe hard things and people around. Carried through these lives we have are a thousand faces in transit. And each one comes to us offering a chance at that vast consciousness of understanding. My hope for fois day is to find good love, to be vigilant wifo it. 1 want to see foe present beauty and to hold what has been given, to love in action and to turn from spite, especially when that anger wants us. Especially when we are tired and foe roots are dry. Especially when Cod feels far and foe soul grows deep and crooked. The word is if, the word is for if you love. This is foe choice, foe going onward and outward in conscious love not only for humanity but for foe humans in each of ٢٧٠comers. For the tiresome friends and those begging time from us. For foe ones who are hard to love. Slow-speaking, gum-smacking, pen-clicking human real surrounding instruments of holy inherent good. And so God offers a new world, saying, “For If You Love! For if you love, such self-altering things will come.” And this is a promise. We are here, here a human solid place to be active in love. A place 1 have been actively loved. And for that 1 am thankful. And ffom that we are grown of an early consciousness, steady- muddy-endless wading in our knowledge, wrestling all foe night wifo Cod. And from that we are alive to love.

  • A Tale of Two Sermons: The Perils and Promise of Personal Narrative

    This text was converted from the original print edition for full-text searchability. Formatting may differ from the original. Consult the PDF for citation and presentation details.

    Page 37

    A Tale ofTwo Sermons:

    The Perils and Promise of Personal Narrative

    Lillian Daniel First Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, Glen Ellyn, Illinois

    One of the most unforgettable sermons I ever heard was when I was in divinity school back in the early 90’s and America had just gone to war with Iraq for the first time. The preacher had a prophetic passion for justice, and we exacted that he would condenm our nation’s use of force to a congregation that was somewhat open to his argument but by no means of one point of view on the subject. So we waited for what we expected from him, some of US waiting to hear our own opinions from the pulpit, make that our own opinions but better delivered, for he was an excellent preacher after all, and others were listening defensively with arms crossed as if to say “Ok, bring it on.” So we were surprised when he began not with a gospel passage about peace, but instead with the story of Abraham and Isaac. He laid out the familiar tale of God’s call to Abraham to sacrifice his son on the altar, a story that makes many people of faith cringe even though we know it will end with Isaac living to see another day. But it makes US cringe because Abraham appears to be so brutal and to be frank, backwards. What kind of father would sacrifice a son for any cause? It’s a story so disturbing it had become for me, as student of theology in my early twenties, irrelevant, a throwback from a bloody and backwards era that I was grateful not to be a part of. But then the preacher changed his tone and spoke about being a father himself of a young man who might be Isaac. He said that his son, now in college, was the age of most soldiers, and he talked about his fears for the young people who might be sent to war. His voice shook with emotion as he took US back into the story of Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac. Suddenly that story changed from a bizarre tale from a brutal culture long ago to a story that spoke to our nation in that moment. Would our sons be sacrificed? And upon what altar? When the preacher got to the end of the story, when God calls upon Abraham to release Isaac, he referenced his own son once again and with angry tears in his eyes he said, “Here’s what we learn from this story. God does not require the sacrifice of our sons!” and he ended the sermon right there. For the first time, I realized that this scripture was not so much about Abraham’s actions as about God’s action at the end. God did not desire the sacrifice of our young for any reason. And I imagined God weeping as our nation marched to war. Had the preacher not told US that he was a father, had he not reflected upon what that role was like for him in very personal ways, that sermon would not have touched us in the same way. For me, as a young woman at that time not married and not a parent, his very personal story of being a middle aged father of a young man took me into the heart of Abraham in a way that had never before been possible, and dare I say it, took me into the heart of God. It was one of the most powerful sermons I have ever heard, and his personal passion as a parent, his story, and his testimony to what he believed about God were key. Later, as we gathered for the Eucharist and I saw the gifts of God for the people of

    Pentecost 2015


    Page 38

    God arranged on the altar, I gave thanks for the one true sacrifice in Christ that made new life possible. I realized as I stood at the railing that I will never again hear the story of Abraham and Isaac on the altar without thinking of that preacher and father fearing for his son, and it will always point me not to a brutal time far past, but to my own day and to those who are sacrificed on the altar of war that breaks God’s heart, for I believe as he believed, that God does not desire the sacrifice of our young. That debt has been paid in Christ not so that such brutality can continue, but so that the prince of peace might reign instead. Brutality would not have the last word. Lifeexperience alone is meager fare for the task ofgospel proclamation,but when life experience is enlarged to include the preacher’s own personal experience of God or clear belief in God, the sermon can have great power. But such power unleashed can also manipulate. It can entertain too much, pruriently so, and distract US from God just when we might need her the most. And sometimes such stories can inflict pain and harm. Let me tell you about another sermon. The church was dark and lit by candles for Maundy Thursday. The cold, crisp air had sent US rushing inside for a beautiful and familiar service that made Holy Week real for our small church community. The liturgy was somber and beautiful and toward the end, we waited as the pastor entered the pulpit for what was usually, on such occasions, a rather short homily. Instead of placing a sheaf of manuscript pages on the pulpit, as was his custom, this time he opened a crumpled envelope and announced that he was going to read US a letter he had just received from his wife who was also the co-pastor of the church. As he adjusted his reading glasses, he also wiped tears from his eyes and proceeded in a choked up voice to read US what was basically a “Dear John, I’m leaving you” letter. This is what I recall coming from a trembling voice in the pulpit: “She wrote in this letter that was left for me this morning on the kitchen table, ‘I have gone away for some time by myself. ΙΊ1 be fine. Do not try to locate me or find out where I am. And no, I will not be here to co-officiate at any of the holy week or Easter services.’” As he went on to tell the congregation that his marriage had been in trouble for a while, some members of the church started to weep, as though they were small children just getting the news that their parents were going to get a divorce. First time visitors looked enormously uncomfortable. I heard a man turn to his wife and say “I’ve had it with this crazy church.” That Maundy Thursday homily was full of personal narrative and also full of deep feeling and passion. I have no doubt that the preacher was leaning into the everlasting arms of Jesus in that painful and heartbreaking moment, but it was the worst excuse for a sermon I have ever heard. Two sermons, both filled with personal narrative, testimony, and passion. One unforgettable, like a life changing epiphany. One unforgettable, like surgery without anesthesia. They are forever linked in my memory, representing both the promise and the peril of the practice. They are forever linked in my memory, because the same preacher delivered them both.

    Journal Or Preachers

  • Protagonist Corner [38 no 4 2015]

    This text was converted from the original print edition for full-text searchability. Formatting may differ from the original. Consult the PDF for citation and presentation details.

    Page 39

    Protagonist Corner

    Sara Hayden

    1001 New Worshiping Communities, Atlanta, Georgia

    In my experience, it is spiritual hunger and an insightful friend that draws the people of new worshiping communities in. They are looking for something that has been missing or something they once had but fear they have lost. They gather in a kitchen,acoffee shop,or someone’s living room. Some are life-long Christians, some have given up on church, and some never took a seat in the proverbial pew in the first place. Because we begin in this mixed economy, new worshiping communities rarely start out with a sermon. It would feel, quite simply, inauthentic to gather around the story proclaimed by someone who is “in” to a group of people, most of whom feel they are “not.” We begin with conversation. What it looks like a lot of times is men and women and sometimes children sharing what they have been missing that they hope to find: “connection,” “friendship,” “something more,” “God,” “a way to make a difference.” In these moments the subjects of future sermons are knit together in the future preacher’s heart and mind. How often do we give ourselves permission to begin here? To begin, that is, with the great conundrums of our lives? To begin with hope? To begin with our stories? The sermon is an event in which the story of God meets US where we are and takes us somewhere. It transforms my story, my family’s story, my history, my future, my present into our story, into God’s story. If people commit to really listen to one another without judging or correcting, I have found in these nascent conversations that many “non-church” people begin sharing that they really do want to know God, or at least more about God. They are not anti-God or even anti-church. They were just too embarrassed to ask. So in the midst of testimony, a group hope emerges wherein those gathered commit to do the same kinds of things that Christians of every time and place have done. Sometimes it is prayer. Sometimes it is simply lighting a candle and breathing deeply. Sometimes it is pooling their money for the good of the world. It is listening to the stories that Jesus told. If they are wise,they acknowledge often thatJesus hasn’tbeen waiting 2,000 years for them to start the perfect church. It is more proper and powerful to join instead the greatcloudofwitnesses and take our seat in the vastand imperfect congregation whose weakness is made powerful in Christ’s presence. This is also worth acknowledging. Once the new community gets around to worshiping, the sermon can be an event that can take the losses and the triumphs – the high points, the indifference -of a group of people and transform a people into God’s people. If the preacher is authentic, when the new members of Christ’s church look back at their lives, it begins to make sense to them that God has been the author of their lives all along. In a recent Google Hangout training with budding church planters, San Francisco Theological Seminary’s chaplain Scott Clark described this as “conservative with a lower-case ‘c,”’ honoring the years of seeking and being the Word in worship that have come before US. But we also must be “progressive,” he says, “remembering that at Pentecost the Holy Spirit gave the church permission to worship in new and

    Pentecost 2015


    Page 40

    transformative ways.” At its best, new worshiping communities engage in worship that is both rigorously faithful and free. “A lot of what we do is just for practical reasons,” Nancy Wind told me. Nancy helped to found and now co-leads Isaiah’s Table, a new worshiping community in Syracuse that rotates serjnon duty and follows each sermon with an open discussion during which worshipers reflect on the message. “Beautiful things happen,” she says. “We have testimonies from people who share about abuse as a child, and ministry to those people happens after the service, too. It’s a way for people to get out their deepest angst and share the message.” Because its vision is to offer “grace, hope, food for all” in town, worship happens on Saturday mornings, when its safer for congregants, sometimes children, to walk through the neighborhood to church. Because laity preach most sermons, these are also served up with a dose of humility. Nancy Wind says, “Some of the people [in the congregation] know way more about the Bible than we (preachers) do. And that’s great. They can bring up a passage that we didn’t think about, that we never would have.” In a sense, those who gather at Isaiah’s Table for worship aren’t doing anything radically different from the mainline established church down the street. Effective missional churches of all sizes share hallmarks in preaching and worship . They include testimony about the impact of faith in real people’s lives. They publicize sermon series that address felt community needs and move people toward greater faithfulness to and awareness of God’s call. Liturgy is thoughtfully crafted using “real, every day” language. Not one aspect of worship is glossed over, and leaders don’t assume that those gathered understand the purpose of any particular part of worship. They explain. They consider what the experience of confession or a sermon or tithing or an affirmation of faith could mean for people walking into a church for the first time, and they make that clear in each invitation. Surely some lifelong church goers are also waiting for the explanation. Effective churches link Sunday (or Saturday) morning to Monday and beyond. The church planter’s axiom states, “If you start with church, you may not get disciples, but if you tegin with disciples, you will get a church.” This informs the rhythm of the church gathered. The movements of worship, and particularly the “sending” part, help to set the stage. If “fruitfulness” is the Bible’s term for success, fruitfol worship ultimately ends with people going out to be the word of God both to a hungry and to an over-fed world. It takes the experiences of our lives and a diverse and scattered people and molds them into one pple, God’s people, for the world. It looks like a community taking God’s story seriously enough to live it out when the gathering ends.

    Journal jor Preachers

  • Protagonist Corner [39 no 1 2015]

    This text was converted from the original print edition for full-text searchability. Formatting may differ from the original. Consult the PDF for citation and presentation details.

    Page 56

    Protagonist Corner

    Andrew Foster Connors Brown Memorial Park Avenue Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, Mainland

    In the midst of the uprisings in Baltimore,one of my colleagues, a white male like me, expressed the confusion coming across his facebook feed. “Some of my black friends are saying, ‘White people, it’s time for you stand up and say that black lives matter!’ Others are saying, ‘White people, it’s time for you to shut up and listen!”’ My colleague and I tentatively agreed that both kinds of responses are called for in these times. The hard part is discerning when which response is required. Such is tme not only for white people at the end of 2015, but more broadly, for the church in Advent. We are tom between a radical, active posture of living into a heavenly reign that has already invaded our world and a humble, empty-handed waiting for that reign to come to fmition. Like the cyclical nature of Advent, we find ourselves circling around to the issue of race in America. More accurately, the whole nation finds itself spiraling around again to a reality that people of color navigate daily but that white people have the privilege (by and large) to ignore. The “peculiar institution” of slavery has forever marked the peculiar history of our nation, and preachers everywhere find ourselves uniquely equipped by the stories of our faith to address concrete, systemic sin and the pain that rises from it. I say uniquely equipped because the language of sin is more relevant to addressing contemporary racial wounds than any other. Sin speaks of a condition that we cannot escape by our own choices. It is a concept that the American myth finds almost impossible to swallow, which is why it evokes so much resistance when spoken fromAmerican pulpits. And yet the word describes the reality in Baltimore, where I live, better than any other. What other word can account for the fact that every black man I know in this city has at least one story of a humiliating encounter with the police? What other word can account for the complex reality that studies of police officers show that all officers demonstrate an implicit bias against young black men, including officers who themselves are black? What other word can account for the deep disparities in household wealth, life expectancy, or the likelihood of going to prison than the word that makes clear that our best selves are marred by histories and cultures that shape US in ways beyond our choosing? Conservatives, by and large, apply the concept of sin in individual, spiritualized ways that ignore historical realities. The gnostic Jesus that descends from this mythic cloud never says a mumbalin’ word about racial injustice, economic systems of oppression , or criminal policies that leave more black people disenfranchised today than during Jim Crow segregation. Liberals, squeamish on sin, express worry that this language shapes a passive people who are forever washing their hands of responsibility, waiting for a Jesus of the least of these to come and save US while we sit by and do nothing. I’ve found the opposite to be true. Confession leads to a kind of tmth-telling that makes relationship possible-first with God, but then with other people. One of the inadvertent,negative results of the Civil Rights Movement is that white people learned to substitute cortect language about race for actual relationships that cross racial boundaries. As a result, white people, on the whole, still live at a safe

    Journal jor Preachers


    Page 57

    distance, literally and figuratively, from the injustice leveled against people of color and the pain that results. From a distance, we can work on getting our talking points correct without ever risking ourselves in relationships that could challenge US and transform that pain into real healing. The good news in Advent is first and foremost that Christ enters into that pain and actively transforms it. This is why black theologians can speak of the “black Christ” present in and among people of color. White people who are in relationship with black people know what they mean. There is a power that rises within the heart of the black community, a power most evident in the black church. It is the power of a people who have survived countless crucifixions who still sing of hope and the promised land that is just around the comer. Liberal white Christians, by and large, have treated black people as charity cases,a “cause” to be helped, when the tmth of the matter is that the black church is a kind of clay jar that holds the tmth of gospel. Much has been written by white theologians about the decline of the power of the church in North America. But the gospel is alive and well, and has been for a long time, in the disestablished, vulnerable black church. In Advent, we are invited to see the places where our God enters, vulnerable and almost imperceptible, discounted by some in power, but pursued as a threat by the Herods of the world who recognize the tme power that resides there. The church is invited to meet Christ in this vulnerability: the church can’t stay still. The night after the uprisings in Baltimore, an invitation came from residents of Sandtown-Winchester where Freddie Gray was arrested before dying in a police van. The streets were like a war zone. People were afraid of police, gangs, and the National Guard. No one knew what might happen next. Police helicopters hovered all night, a constant, unnerving drone. The grocery store had burned down, and since it was the end of the month, some were already out of food. A number of US walked the streets and listened. Neighborhood leaders invited people to come and listen to those most deeply affected by the violence and unrest. So we gathered that night around tables brimming with food to listen to fears and to pray for a way forward. I have walked those streets and others in our city many times since the unrest. With others inBUILD,a37-year-oldcitizens’power organization of churches,synagogues, schools, and community groups, I have challenged mayors, police commissioners, and business leaders to get out from behind their desks and into the streets to know the pain of the people we are all obligated to serve. Sometimes I have listened; other times I have argued with brothers and sisters of many colors as we have discerned where God is leading US, together, to meet Christ and how Christ is calling US to die to sin so that we might be alive to the new creation that we see rising from the ashes of our city of ruins. In the weeks afterward, I have often found myself in conversations with white people outside of the city who are literally afraid to drive into it. I find myself feeling deeply sorry for them. Christ is alive, and they know him only as an idea, not as wounded flesh who speaks of life not from the distance of division and pain and suffering , but in the midst of it! The risen Christ is here, marked by violence but forever freed from it, and they still live in fear! A friend said to me recently, “White people need to have more courage in engaging these relationships.” Perhaps. Or maybe we all need to be reminded of where to find our Lord and the powerful joy that arises from those vulnerable places only because Christ lives there.

    Advent 2015

  • Great preaching in the second half of the twentieth century

    This text was converted from the original print edition for full-text searchability. Formatting may differ from the original. Consult the PDF for citation and presentation details.

    Page 45

    Protagonist Corner

    Great Preaching in the Second Half of the Twentieth Century

    Louis c. Schueddig

    Atlanta, Georgia

    Growing up in the Midwest in the 1950’s, most Sunday mornings our mother, my sister, and 1 headed to our loeal Episeopal Church while my grandmother, an immigrant from Germany and its Reformed ?rotestant tradition, headed upstairs to her room to listen to foe Protestant Radio Hour. In those days, “The Protestant Hour” was heard on more than 600 stations in almost all fifty states. It was at foe head of its class of religious radio broadcasts that enjoyed foe luxury of free airtime before de-regulation of foe airwaves in the early 1980’s did away with most of them. Itfeatured the best Protestantpreachersofthe second half of the twentieth century, icons like Edmund Stcimie, John Redhead, Robert Goodrich, and Theodore Parker Ferris. Each was given a twelve-week series that generated lasting relationships with listeners. Stcimie, a Lutheran, preached the longest, two full decades, before retiring as Professor of Homiletics at Union Seminary in New York. He was also probably the best in terms of both content and delivery. Atfoeheighto^inlineProtestafo religion in ^ e r ic a these preachers’passionate allegiance to foe power ofthe biblical text provided a platform for helping foe country reflect theologically on World Wars I and II, the Great Depression, the Korean conflict, foe Cold War, foe rise of Communism, foe growth of uburbia,juvenile delinquency, and moral decay across foe U.S., as well as a perceived host of other grave threats to society. There was no partisan divide on these issues in society; foe future ofthe entire world seemed at stake, and for those in foe Methodist, Presbyterian, Lutheran, and Episcopal traditions, it was for many the only worship experience in foe week, especially for foe house-bound, those in hospitals, prisons, or overseas in foe Armed Forces. “The Protestant Hour” played a unique role in foe history of America in those complex decades. As directorofthe agency that produced “The Protestant Hour,” now heard on more than 200 stations as “Day I,” I transitioned to retirement to oversee the restoration of archived programs from 1945 to 1992, recordings that werc swiftly deteriorating in their original formats. I read 1,998 sermon transcripts, catalogued and summarized each one, and when foe digital restoration was completed, I listened to nearly all the programs. What I learned was just how great Protestant preaching was in that era. Gne of foe more obvious differences from sermons of today was in foe use of storytelling which has become a seedbed for preachers seeking creativity, humor, pathos, and a pastoral human touch in their sermons. In my hearing today, I find foe preacheris stories often launch with a personal anecdote, usually humorous. There is a lot of “let me tell you what happened yesterday when our two year old…,” and you can fill in foe blank. The listener in a post World War 11 America got a good story all right, but it was almost never about foe preacher. In fact, listeners ended up knowing very little about foe person of foe preacher. Vastly equipped with stories from history , literature, science, foe battlefield, gospel hymns, and of course theology, these stories seemed to find their narrative in a reservoir of learning that if brought to foe pulpit today may sound off-putting and stilted; and yet, 1 wonder if the erudition of

    Easter 2015


    Page 46

    “The Protestant Hour” preaehers just may have helped the ehureh’s eause In a time of growing soeial disease. ©bviously quoting Plato, Milton, Shakespeare, Niebuhr and Bonhoeffer, and so many others may not fit our eurrent social media culture, but I wonder if it is always necessary for toe preachers of today to personalize stories in ways that can frequently stumble into banality. Biblical storytelling is a homiletical tradition that is never meant to over-shadow toe text. It teaches ways to best amplify toe Scriptures. I sense folks in toe pew really want to get to toe Gospel and have learned so much about the personal life of their preacher that they have grown weary of self-focused sermons that seem to take forever to weave their way to toe Good News. I recently heard,and laterread,asermon that began w itheightp^^rafathattold a personal story that occurred in another congregation, in another town the preacher had served more than a decade ago. In telling the story, toe preacher used toe first personal singular (I) a dozen times. Finally when the gospel reading for the day was presented, you could almost see toe congregation lean in and listen-up. It was as if the sermon finally began. Facebook, Twitter, and a host of other social media seem to demand self-revelation . It might have seemed unseemly in an earlier era to reveal private matters to a congregation as is so common today, but 1 urge preachers to plumb the archives of “The Protestant Hour” programs from those early years to learn better how to take a back seat to toe star of the show, toe Gospel. Next year, 2015, marks the seventieth anniversary of “The Protestant Hour/Day 1.” It has never missed a Sunday broadcast in all those years. It wifi take great effort, as is now being planned, to make those early broadcasts available online through toe Dayl.org website, but when that happens, it will give seminaries, ^e^hers, and lay persons who are hungry for toe best in classical preaching, a resource that represents the finest preaching of a generation. Some wifi argue they are passé, but I argue they are a treasure trove for anyone committed to ^oclaiming toe Good News in ways that can revive and feed hungry souls everywhere.

    Note For more information on “The Protestant Hour” archive collection contact the Rev. Peter Wallace, president and executive director of “Day 1,” at 2715 Peachtree Road, Atlanta, Georgia 30305, or at pw؛dlace@dayl.org.

    Journalfor Preachers

  • Series on exile

    This text was converted from the original print edition for full-text searchability. Formatting may differ from the original. Consult the PDF for citation and presentation details.

    Page 35

    Series on Exile

    Kristy Färber and Mark Ramsey Graee (Avenant Presbyterian Church, Asheville, North Carolina

    For ten weeks leading up to and including Lent last year, we preached a series of sermons on Exile. We focused on the biblical exile, but also exile as experienced in our world and by those who participate in our community of faith. In the note to the congregation to introduce this series, we wrote:

    Exile is one of the seminal events in the Old Testament narrative, yet one that gets relatively little attention. Likewise,exiles in our day are glimpsed briefly on a screen and then quickly passed by. Exile can mean being barred (or deported) from one’s home. Exile can also happen within families, communities, cultures, and within our own spirit. Dislocation is a real experience for many of us and again, one we are so reluctant to address.

    We structured the series using ten different Biblical characters and the ways they experienced personal and community exile. This is one of two sermons in the series using a weekly focus on a character from scripture to both illumine the theme and to assist in deeper biblical knowledge among our congregation. Going into the series, we were skeptical, skeptical that the theme would resonate with our congregation and skeptical that we could pull off ten weeks of this without losing their,or our,interest.The response wasextraordinary. The conversations around exile, shame, depression, fear, hope, doubt, and faith seemed to increase with each passing week. We discovered that what we thought might be a marginal idea was very much at the forefront of the struggle and faithful wrestling of many. What follows is a very brief outline of each of the sermons, texts, and themes used in the series: 1. Introduction – “Breaking Camp” (Jeremiah 29:1-14 and Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-26) focused on the biblical narrative which constantly tells of God calling us out from the safe, known, confortable and familiar—whether by a call or by forced dislocation —and how the people of God continued to discover God present with them in all those “new” and “dislocated” places. 2. “Going Backstage” (John 20:19-31 and Genesis 2:15-3:13,3:21-24) dealt with the exile of shame through the experience of Adam and Eve in the garden. A line from the sermon, “What is it about shame that makes us uncomfortable simply hearing the word?” seemed to offer people permission to begin to look at this more seriously and deeply in their own lives. It was the reaction to this sermon that gave us a hint that we had touched something important in the midst of our congregation. 3. The sermon about Rachael and Leah, “Second Choices” (Jeremiah 31:15-20 and Genesis 29:15-28), began: “If Leah and Rachel were present with us this morning, I wonderwhattheywouldhavedone when we passed the peace?The sermon concluded: “If you are exiled in your family—you need to know that is not the last word about your life. You are not God’s second choice. You are never going to be God’s second choice. God remembers you. God remembers the exile of every person. You are God’s beloved, named, claimed child. You are God’s first choice—now and forever.”

    Lent 2015


    Page 36

    4. Faul’s struggle with his trad؛t©؛n and his new call to faithfulness and how that new call—begun on the Damascus Road—exiled him from what he had known before was the subject of “Belonging” (?hilippians 3:4b-14 and 1 Corinthians 3:1-9). Seeking to answer the (gestión raised by text (“What is your relationship to tomorrow?’’), we ؟uoted Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel: “Cur goal should be to live life in radical amazement.” 5. On Youth Sunday, the youth of the church participated in the series with a theme of “The £xile of Expectations,” using the narratives around Martha and Mary. 6. For the First Sunday in Eent, the sermon was “It’s Tempting,” based on Matthew 4:1-11 and Mark 8:27-33. It explored exile that occurs because of our temptation, specifically ?eter’s (and our) exile when we back away from Jesus’ death. 7. “Wrestling with Everything” (Romans 5:1-8, Jonah 3:10-4:11) dove deep into Jonah’s story, a story that ends with a ،question rather than a resolution, a story that ends with Jonah wondering about the justice of a God whose love doesn’t sort. It was a sermon about how we are prone to exiling ourselves from God when God’s ways don’t match our expectations. 8. “No End to It” follows this introduction. It is a sermon about the “exile” ofhaving one’s life re-arranged by the grace of God. 9. Following that is “Selling Hope Short,” about self-exile, and that concluded the series a week before Falm/?assion Sunday. We have one additional note about the use of music in this series and in the two sermons that follow. We found that interspersing music, everything from the Rolling Stones to a song used in The Hunger Games movie to traditional spirituals, added to the spiritual and emotional connection that this series on Exile had already initiated. We are all well aware that we “hear” in different ways, and in sermons with so many spoken words, music allowed worshippers the space to consider the plaintive cries of exile in new ways and from deeper places.

    Journalfor Preachers

  • The book of forgiving: the fourfold path for healing ourselves and our world

    This text was converted from the original print edition for full-text searchability. Formatting may differ from the original. Consult the PDF for citation and presentation details.

    Page 41

    One New Book for the Preacher

    John Buchanan

    The Christian Century, Chicago, Illinois

    DesmowHlL ι1ρ\0Ίλ ,The Book oj ؛Forgiving : The F ourfold Path of Healing Ourselves and Our World (New York: Harper One), 2014.

    Desmond Tutu will surely be remembered for a very long time as a Christian churchman who profoundly influenced for the good one of the most critical periods in the world in recent history. The first black Anglican Archbishop of Cape Town, South Africa,Tutu was a vocal opponent of the South African system of apartheid, one of the most racist and oppressive political arrangements in our time. For his tireless advocacy for human rights, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, the Albert Schweitzer Prize for Humanitarianism, the Pacem in Terra Award, and many other international accolades. In addition. Bishop Tutu served as Chair of the newly democratic South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Anyone who ever met him—and I did, briefly—was compelled by both his obvious integrity as a Christian social activist but also his personal charm, grace, and infectious smile. Tutu modeled for many of us just the right mixture of prophetic impatience with injustice and compassionate, deeply human pastoral love. He has partnered to write this book with his daughter, Mpho Tutu, also an Anglican Priest, and Executive Director of the Desmond and Leah Tutu Legacy Foundation. Together they have created a marvelous resource, a highly readable book full of personal anecdotes and, for the preacher, a lifetime of sermon illustrations. The book also includes a methodology for putting into practice the illusive and difficult virtue of forgiving. The book opens with the first of many gripping stories,a widow’s heart-wrenching and horrific testimony before the Tmth and Reconciliation Commission. Her husband had been “disappeared” by the South African government, tortured, and murdered. She told the commissioners that herhusband’s body bore forty-three wounds,acid had been poured on his face, and his right hand had been severed. The woman’s daughter, eight years old when her father was murdered, described the years of hardship that followed, punctuated by police harassment. The Commission members were stunned by what the young woman, now nineteen, said next. “I would love to know who killed my father. So would my brother. We want to forgive them, but we don’t know who to forgive” (page 2). Other anecdotes throughout the book, many of them personal to the Tutus, dramatize the tragedy and potential for violent revenge when the apartheid system ultimately collapsed. Other anecdotes are of random violence to which all of US are subject. One of the personal accounts is of the brutal murder of Angela, Mpho Tutu’s beloved housekeeperandcaregiverforherdaughter.Tutu describes her journey through grief, rage, and revenge to reconciliation and peace. A breathtaking illustration is of Bishop Malusi Moumlwaua, an anti-apartheid activist who was arrested and tortured extensively by the South African police. He later told Bishop Tutu that his experience renewed his commitment to the anti-apartheid cause, but in the middle of torture, he had come upon an astonishing insight. “These are God’s children, and they are


    Page 42

    losing their humanity. We have to help them recover it” (page 34). As I read this and other accounts of suffering and injustice, I found myself wanting only to be silently grateful for these profound examples of Christ-like grace. These people exhibited a depth and strength of faithfulness that puts my own tepid faith to shame. I clearly recall the report of a friend of mine who had visited apartheid era South Africa. He told me about seeing the disciplined, well-equipped, very visible and present South African military, one of the strongest in the world. “There is no way,” he said, “that an absolute catastrophe can be avoided.” He was not alone in that analysis. Historians will ponder for years why it didn’t happen, why black South Africans, when the system fell and the first democratic election was held in 1994, did not exact a terrible revenge on their oppressors. The reasons are beyond the scope of this book, but surely the witness of Archbishop Desmond Tutu and his transparent Christian faith are among them, as is the towering figure of Nelson Mandela. This is not a book about Mandela, but he looms large over it. Imprisoned for twenty-seven years in a government penal institution on Robben Island, Mandela emerged from prison as the bearer of black South Africans’ long suffering, but also their hope for the future. The Tutus observe that Mandela’s personal journey from angry young radical to mature, gracious, and forgiving statesman was a dramatic and dynamic model for his people. “When Nelson Mandela went to jail, he was a very angry man. This global role model of forgiveness was not very forgiving on the day he stepped onto Robben Island to begin his prison sentence. It took many years in jail, years he spent cultivating a daily practice of forgiveness, for him to become the luminous example of tolerance who was able to put his wounded country on the road to reconciliation and healing. The man who walked into prison was not the man who invited his prison guard to be a VIP guest at his inauguration. That took time and effort” (page 38). The Tutus ground their exploration into the dynamics of forgiving in contemporary scholarship as well as personal anecdote. They cite, among others, the work of psychologist Fred Luskin, author of Forgivefor Good: A Proven Prescriptionfor Health and Happiness. Luskin cites scientific studies that show that forgiveness training reduces depression and anger and increases general well-being and hopefulness. “Research suggests that people who are forgiving report fewer health and mental problems, and fewer symptoms of stress.” Some evolutionary biologists suggest that human beings are hardwired to seek revenge and hurt back when hurt. It leads to the “revenge cycle”: violence, hurt/harm/loss, pain, choosing to harm, rejecting shared humanity, revenge payback, more violence. The Tutus propose an alternative, a “forgive cycle” in which the harmed person consciously chooses to heal by forgiving . Instead of being drawn into the cycle of revenge and rupture, human beings can choose to forgive and reconnect. The heart of this book, in the practice of forgiveness, is the Fourfold Path of Forgiving. Each of the four Steps-Telling the Story, Naming the Hurt, Granting Forgiveness, Renewing or Releasing the Relationship-is set forth in a chapter. The first step. Telling the Story, is introduced by Bishop Tutu’s powerful and personal memory of an incident that was humiliating and infuriating. In 1960 he and his wife Leah were driving their children to neighboring Swaziland to enroll them in a school that promised a better education. It was a long drive on a blisteringly hot day without air conditioning. Tutu saw a sign: “Walls Ice Cream Ahead.” He pulled the car into

    Journal|or Preachers


    Page 43

    the lot, and the family clambered out, desperate for the promise of cold ice cream. The boy behind the counter refused to serve them, ordering the family to go outside to the back window. “The rage seared me,” Tutu remembers (pages 68-69). Incidents like that can leave permanent scars on the soul. Somehow he must forgive that boy. It begins with telling the story, preferably to the perpetrator of the hurt. Wen that is not possible to do face-to-face, it is important to write the story in a letter or, at least, to tell it to someone, bringing the pain to words. The chapter includes a helpful section on “The Cost of Not Telling”: carrying the weight of the burden of pain alone, internalizing the pain where it festers and becomes more painful. Telling about it is the first step toward liberation. The final step in the Fourfold Path, after Telling the Story, Naming the Hurt, and Granting Forgiveness, is Renewing or Releasing the Relationship. The chapter is particularly helpful in the realistic acknowledgement that sometimes a broken relationship cannot be renewed, in which case an intentional release can bring the matter to a livable resolution. The Tutu’s make the remarkable and challenging proposal of two simple truths: there is nothing that cannot be forgiven, and there is no one undeserving of forgiveness . My first reaction, and I suspect I’m not alone, is the familiar skeptical trope: “What about Adolph Hitler and his despicable Nazi minions? What about Jihad John and his brutally murderous ISIS colleagues publically beheading journalists?” The authors remind US, however, that forgiving or not forgiving always involves a choice we make. “In South Africa we chose to seek forgiveness rather than revenge. That choice averted a bloodbath. For every injustice there is a choice….I have often said that in South Africa there would have been no future without forgiveness. Our rage and our quest for revenge would have been our destruction” (page 7). Near the end of the book, the Tutus expand the context by proposing that one of the major issues confronting our nation and the world is the choice between retributive or restorative justice. Retributive justice, an eye-for-an-eye, practiced by most of the countries of the world including our own, is based on the premise that an injustice can only be made right when the perpetrator is made to pay for the harm by incarcération , physical punishment, or death. And in spite of promises of rehabilitation and restoration, our penal system feels and acts like retribution. The authors challenge this entire mentality and the penal justice systems it has spawned. It is both bracing and provocative: can a semblance of civil justice be produced by loving one’s enemies and doing good to those who harm? As I finished reading the book, it occurred to me that this issue comes close to the heart of the Gospel. “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against US,” Jesus taught his followers to pray. The clear assumption is that personal forgiveness is organically related to the intentional act of forgiving others. It is fascinating to ponder the implications in regard to the seemingly intractable conflict between Israelis and Palestinians. The argument reminded me of another remarkable book I read recently. Change ofHeart: Justice, Mercy and Making Peace with my Sister ‘5 Killer by Jeanne Bishop. I was Bishop’s pastor and have witnessed and been inspired by her incredible journey. She is a practicing attorney and knows intimately the ins and outs of our criminal justice system. Bishop’s pregnant sister Nancy and her husband were brutally murdered by a teenage intmder in their suburban Chicago home. In her book. Bishop describes the foil range of emotions she experienced, including her desire


    Page 44

    for revenge and retributive justice. Tis young man should be punished severely for the ghastly evil he did and the pain he created. She also describes how her Christian faith led her gradually, over a period of several years, to change her mind about the killer’s life sentence without parole and also finally to reach out to him in prison and to try to build a relationship. That relationship seems to be headed toward restoration, reconciliation, and forgiveness. Desmond Tutu and Mpho Tutu have created a unique structure in The Book of Forgiveness. Each of the ten chapters appears to have been written by Bishop Tutu. At the end of each chapter is a poetic reflection, making personal the ideas and concepts in the preceding chapter, followed by a helpful summaty of the chapter’s ideas, concepts, and proposals. I found myself wishing that there had been a similar chapter summary as I struggled with some of the turgid academic theology I have attempted to read and understand over the years. There are three additional sections at each chapter’s end: a Meditation, Stone Ritual, and Journal Exercise. Readers are urged to spend time in intentional meditation, to choose a small stone to use throughout the journey to forgiveness, and to keep ajournai. It is no doubt a generational quirk, but I stayed with the recommended practices: carry my stone, trace my stone, mark my stone, up to the recommendation to whisper to my stone and tell it my story. I terminated the Stone Ritual at that point. Others, perhaps many others, will find it helpful. My recommendation is not to be put off by it. TheTutus and the people they write abouthave endured horrific pain and suffering, more, I suspect, than most of US have or ever will. Out of their personal experiences and the nearly miraculous emergence of South Africa, mostly peacefully from apartheid with its obvious potential for vengeful, violent retaliation. Bishop Desmond Tutu and Mpho Tutu have given US a remarkable, relevant, and very helpful resource.

    Journal jor Preachers

  • With all our prayers: walking with God through the Christian year

    This text was converted from the original print edition for full-text searchability. Formatting may differ from the original. Consult the PDF for citation and presentation details.

    Page 53

    One New Book for the Preacher

    o. Benjamin Sparks

    Richmond, Virginia 1 זHfrUr . יWith All Our Praters: Walking with God through the Christian Year (Wm. B.Eerdmans, Grand Rapids), 114 pages.

    Many qualities adorn this collection of prayers. Here is the work of a preacher and pastor who understands that in addition to the sermon, the other essential contribution to worship is the pastoral prayer. When you read With All Our Prayers, or read even one of the prayers, you find yourself in a sanctuary again, so lively is the concern expressed for the congregation. You become aware that these prayers are on behalf of a church with whom the preacher has worked and laughed and prayed and sung, whose Session meetings he has moderated, whose hospital beds he has stood beside, at whose marriages, baptisms, and funerals he has officiated, and in whose wider community he has immersed himself. This preacher knows a congregation by heart, which is what counts most in ministry. That intimate knowledge is revealed in this slight volume in at least three ways: in the joy with which the people are brought to adore God for the work of creation and for God’s sustaining presence in their lives; in the urgency with which personal anguish and public distress are encompassed within a confident dependence upon God’s providential care; and in regular, faithful petition on behalf of the church and its members to fulfill their calling as emissaries and agents of God’s purpose in the world. In addition to prayers that mark the high points of the Christian year, the preacher uses scripture and lines from hymns to introduce individual prayers in ordinaty time. These prayers demonstrate the pastoral devotion of one who is himself immersed in scripture and in the central convictions of Christian faith: most especially that we are known, swaddled, kept, sustained, upheld, and encouraged by the One who created us, and from whom, in Jesus Christ, we will never be separated. Further, in an age when the language of worship in American Protestantism is unravelling,these prayers represent a recovery of language that boldly and eloquently kneels before the Eternal God, the Almighty One who is maker of heaven and earth and the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Here is thoughtful language that is inclusive of all persons, but remains uncorrupted by casual, supposedly natural, phrasing that masquerades as extemporaneous prayer. These prayers demonstrate,as well as any formal ecclesiology can define orclaim, the centrality and importance of the particular congregation as the foundation of the church catholic: as the community, the place, where children and adults come to faith and are nourished and sustained in their personal and corporate witness to that faith. The prayers attest over and over to that reality as they are read and savored. Here is a sampling of quotations to illustrate qualities I have described thus far. From prayers for Sundays in Advent:

    Some of us come before you in need of courage. Many of US who are outwardly placid and comfortable are inwardly discouraged and beaten….


    Page 54

    Death has come roaring into our households and laid its chilling hand upon our hearts. There are friends who have disappointed US and loved ones who have hurt US…. Let US remain long enough in prayer, 0 God, to hear you say to us: “Be not anxious…. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” (p.6)

    Give us ears to hear and hearts to understand Christmas as the astounding good news it is, 0 God… not as a deal we make or a bargain we control by our acceptance or rejection, but as a declaration of love that will not let us go even when we struggle against it. (p. 8)

    From a prayer for the New Year:

    Deepen within US the realization that you are not an abstract, impersonal “something,” but a particular Someone—God with US, God for US, God among US… .And in that knowledge inspire US to dedicate ourselves to the peace you would bring to the world’s enmity; the reconciliation you would seek for our estrangements…. May this be our vocation and our witness as your children and your church, 0 God. ..in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, who, whatever the future holds, holds the foture in the strong security of his steadfast love and invincible grace, (pp. 15-16)

    From a prayer for Reformation Sunday:

    Grant US to know you, 0 God, as our refuge and strength against all that assaults our souls, len greed lures US, make US generous. When pride would make US pompous, make US instead gracious. When envy bids to control US, help US to rejoice in the blessings of others. When we begin to turn in upon ourselves, give US instead a spirit of gratitude and a heart for friendship, (p. 99)

    All of us who have prayed each week in congregations come sooner or later to realize that we are stewards of the prayers that have been prayed in our presence. Our own praying, either consciously or not, is filled with language and syntax and style that we have heard and read. We have been tutored by words that spoke to our minds and hearts, often in times of great joy or deep anguish, or words that broke through the distraction or boredom of ordinary days. When John Rogers and I attended Union Seminary in Richmond, VA, we were mentored by such words in chapel. These services were Protestant worship at its simplest . Three out of four days a week, the worship was led by faculty. What I remember most profoundly when I look back are the prayers I heard prayed by the faculty and the president of the seminary. These prayers had about them the same eloquence as the prayers in this book. They awakened the heart without forsaking the mind, but most important, as we listened, we knew that the one leading US in prayer was speaking to the living God. (John Rogers writes of the influence that he experienced at Union Seminaty in a concluding postscript to a prayer he includes on page 111, “A Funeral Prayer of Thanksgiving and Intercession.”)

    Journal Or Preachers


    Page 55

    This book of prayers deserves its place on your shelf beside the prayers of Calvin and Augustine, of John Baillie and Ernest Campbell, beside whatever books of prayers to which you turn to nourish your spirit and jump start your imagination as you prepare the weekly prayers for worship with the congregation for which you are responsible. With All Our Prayers is a gift to preachers and to the church catholic.

  • Unapologetic: why, despite everything, Christianity can still make surprising emotional sense

    This text was converted from the original print edition for full-text searchability. Formatting may differ from the original. Consult the PDF for citation and presentation details.

    Page 47

    One New Bookfor the Preacher

    0 . Benjamin Sparks

    Richmond, Virginia

    Unapologetic:Why, Despite Everything, Christianity Can Still Make Surprising Emotional Sense, Francis spufford (HarperOne, 2013, originally published by Faber and Faber Limited in 2012), 221 pages.

    This is a rollicking read, a short survey of Christian theology and church history written brilliantly, impudently, and conversationally for those who don’t have a clue about much of what Christians believe and do. They may have familiarity with the cultural residue of Christian faith (manger scenes, Christmas carols, Easter lilies, the Crusades, and the Inquisition) in a post-Christian, sometimes anti-Christian age, but they are ignorant of its substance. Uapologetic was written for a British public and so requires a preface to the American edition, which explains that while Christianity has a ceremonial, public face at coro^tions, royal weddings, and funerals, it’s largely ignored by a majority of the British population, who know about it mostly from the media’s coverage of church controversies and scandals that make believers appear to be homophobic, misogynist, or abusers of children. In a telling part of the American preface, Spufford, after commenting on the difference in church attendance (six percent in the U.K. compared to 26 percent in the USA), reveals that there are another 16 percent in the United States who say they attend church, when in truth they do not. He thinks that simply astonishing. In his country, people who attend worship might instead deny it out of embarrassment. Church attendance, the mention of God, and religious language are never an enhancement to status or position. In the U.K., “we are well past the tipping point where the religion [Christian faith] provides a language that can be confidently manipulated in the expectation that it will be [rhetorically] powerful” (p. viii – xi). Spufford also lets his American readers know that he is aware of the virulent, religious culture wars in the United States. In the U.K. there are no school board fights over biology textbooks. There is no aggressive creationist lobby, or much of a religious lobby about anything else. He writes that we wifi find him liberal, in American terms, but he does not argue for a left-leaning Christianity. The most he is trying for “is to persuade people that Christianity as such, in any variety, should be seen as something not xiomatically contemptible, something emotionally comprehensible even if not shared …” (p. xi). Further, he believes that the nature of Christianity in the U.K. (a ate-sanctioned church that pervades public life) is more detrimental to authentic Christian faith than our attempts at constitutional separation of church and state, where religion is voluntary. Finally, for us Americans, he explains that this book is full of swearing. Why should that be? He says he wants to make “a tonal point: to suggest that religious sensibilities are not made of glass, do not need to hide themselves nervously from whole dimensions of human experience. To express a serious and appropriate judgment on human destroctiveness, in the natural language of that destructiveness” (p. xiii). Some of his spicy, scatological language makes you laugh out loud. And some is so damned clever you are astonished by his facility with language, his cultural and


    Page 48

    theological depth, and his ingenuity. For instanee, in defining original sin (which he declares, you might guess, as hopelessly lacking in emotional or intellectual heft), he uses the acronym HPtFtU which is “the human propensity to f#*k things up.” After he’s explained it, he uses the acronym, ft’s effective, basic, and demonstrates that religious ensibilities [understandings] need not hide themselves from whole dimen ־ sions of human experience. Should this offend any readers of this Journal (and I doubt it), one only needs to recall some of the epithets Martin Luther hurled at the Fope, the Church of Rome, and God help us all, the Jews. At least Spufford does not use this language as a weapon, but only as a tool for o ^ u n ic a tin g with those who have little clue about Christian faith. Do not be fooled by his swearing. It is not frivolous. Unapologetic, while often humorous and irreverent, engages the whole of Christian doctrine: the formation of the canon of scripture with its internal and external history, the doctrines of God, of Christ,ofthe Holy ^ rit,o ^ c h a o lo g y ,to g e th e rw؛ths^^ expositionsoftheodicy both personal and cosmic. ft is the last theological conundrum (why supposedly good people do such bad things to each other and how God can allow it, if God exists?) for which Spufford is especially helpful. As he acknowledges, many people not only hate the church, but they also assume that the church, Christianity, and religion in general are responsible for all the evils that have been foisted on Humankind, especially by the faithful. In a next to last chapter, “The International League of the Guilty, Fart Two,” he addresses what he calls “Christian committed inquiries.” He does not spare us, makes no exceptions, and does not argue that what the good Christians do outweighs the bad: you cannot balance good and evil. Spufford approaches the dilemma head on, beginning with toe hatred that from the beginning was “entangled wito Christianity’s relationship with its older Jewish sibling” (p. 173). He follows anit-Semitism through history to the pressent, yet argues that human societies of all sorts (once we have left behind our hunter/gatherer life) can be/have been organized around the hatred and persecution of someone. Sometimes (usually?) wito toe sanction of toe church where toe church was present. (In a footnote he mentions that Christopher Hitchens argued that Martin Luther King could not be counted to the credit of religion. “He was too good…the non-violence, the humility utterly incompatible wito Christianity’s proven wickedness” (p. 189). And of course, he returns frequently in this chapter to our friend (our real enemy, more like) HPtFtU. ft infects us all, even (especially?) the church, and only by God’s mercy and grace are we rescued from its power. If you’re still wito me, you may have wondered more than once why an account, written. ٠ ٠for those who don’t have a clue about what Christians believe and do is a new book for preachers. After all, are not we toe ones who, week after week through the exposition of scripture and the teaching of theology and doctrine, declare what Christians believe and do? So why is this good for us? First, because it is written by an intelligent layperson who has taken his faith seriously . Francis Spufford is an academic who teaches creative writing at Goldsmiths College (University ofLondon). Before he wrote Unapologetic, he was an accomplished public intellectual, the winner of several awards and prizes for his non-fiction writing. Like his intellectual forebears, c.s. Lewis and Jacques Ellul, themselves laymen, he is writing because of his passionate faith in Jesus Christ and his love for toe church.

    Journal for Preachers


    Page 49

    (He is also writing for Iris six-year-old daughter, whose friends will soon begin telling her that she’s weird because her parents go to chureh.) He has no professional axe to grind, even though he is married to a vicar in foe Church of England. He is certainly not attempting to impress his colleagues if his descriptions of withering attitudes toward Christian faith in foe U.K. arc even marginally accurate. He is writing from faith for foe faith itself, not so much in its defense as on behalf of faith’s understandability. Such an approach is enormously helpful in mainline congregations in foe United States who lose foeir children to unbelief at an alarming rate. According to foe Hujfington Post, 70 percent of young adults raised by mainline ?rotestants showed minimal ٢٠lower levels of faith than their parents (quoted in The Christian Century, 11/26/14). There is no agenda in this book, no ideology, and thank Cod, no position taken, except delight in, thankfulness for, and fidelity to Christian faith. It will give vigorous tonal accents to our preaching. Second, it is useful for the preacher’s faith. I don’t know ׳about you, but 1 have always been inspired and ennobled by foe testimony of laypersons and by their obedience and faithfulness. More than anything else, when they live out their faith, they arc and have been a means of grace to me. Unapologetic passes this smell test as well as anything I’ve read. Herc we engage a mind at work in foe service of God, a will not distorted by anger, and a heart which has been shaped by and rejoiees in God’s mercy, God’s love, and God’s forgiveness. Spufford is a man who inspires faith brilliantly, amusingly, and outrageously. When I survey foe geography and climate of ecclesial life in foe United States and absorb its confusion, distress, and sadness, I know of no better antidote than Unapologetic.

  • The myth of persecution: how early Christians invented a story of martyrdom

    This text was converted from the original print edition for full-text searchability. Formatting may differ from the original. Consult the PDF for citation and presentation details.

    Page 58

    One New Bookfor the Preacher

    Marvin Lindsay

    Union Presbyterian Seminary, Richmond, Virginia

    Candida Moss, The Myth ofPersecution: How Early Christians Invented a Story of Martyrdom (New York: Harper O n e , 310 pages.

    The Christian’s willingness to die for the faith has been the ultimate witness to the truth of Christianity. A suffering Church, a martyr Church, is Christianity at its best. Lent is a time to renew ourselves in this historieal and embodied witness to the truth. Or is it? Candida Moss’s book The Myth ofPersecution: How Early Christians Invented a Story ofMartyrdom ealls this story into question. Moss, a professor of New Testament and Early Christianity at Notre Dame, has eondensed a deeade’s worth of research into a elear and aecessible narrative that undermines our assumptions about toe motives of early Christian martyrs and toe seope of the persecution they endured. Her book will interest not only pastors and history buffs, but anyone who partieipates in civil society. Moss asserts that toe myth ofpersecution is poisoning eontemporary politieal diseourse. She maintains that a more truthful narrative about who Christians arc and where they have eome from serves both historical aeeuraey and toe eommon good. Martyrdom was not unique to Christians, Moss argues, though Christians did affeet a ehange in toe meaning of toe Greek term martyrs, from eourtroom witness to martyr. Both pagans and Jews embraced death for postmortem rewards, despite laeking a speeific word for this behavior. Moss shows that martyrdom texts are highly stylized, beginning with the gospel ofLuke. The author of the third gospel expunges toe loneliness and terror that grips Mark’s Jesus in toe hour of his death. Luke turns Jesus into Soerates؛ he bears toe cross serenely and manfully. Later, Eusebius of Caesarea would shoehorn toe martyrs of Lyons and Vienne into the plotline of the Maceabean literature. Moss argues that other “early” martyrdom texts were written long after toe events they purport to describe. The authors make their protagonists speak to contraporary theological and pastoral concerns. Moss eoncludes that martyrdom aecounts have been subject to so much theologizing and editorializing that we have no real aceess to toe historical martyr. Martyrs werc few in number, says Moss. The experience ofpersecution was sporadie and local. Pliny the Younger’s letter to Emperor Trajan is the voice of a Roman bureaucrat seeking advice on a protocol for handling Christians in court. He is not bragging to Rome about toe numbers of Christians caught in his dragnet. Emperors Decius and Diocletian implemented toe worst persecutions, but neither targeted Christians per se, Moss writes. Christians were collateral damage in their efforts to unite the Empire and shore up their rale in a period of instability. True, toe Romans despised Christians, but Moss asks toe reader to understand toe Roman point ofview. The peace and prosperity ofthe empire were fragile goods, preserved by currying the favor ofthe gods. The Christian refusal to sacrifice to the gods looked like sedition to toe Romans. “Piety” ipietas in Latin or eusebia in Greek) enttoled^rc than religious devotion in the ancient world. Piety meant respect, and respect was owed in a whole web of relationships: to the gods, the emperor, toe head of household, toe teaeher.


    Page 59

    The Christian refusal to show piety to the gods tugged on a string that threatened to unravel the social fabric. Moreover, the Christian martyrs as Moss presents them are not sympathetic characters. Christians could be truculent in court. They did not go to the lions loving their enemies,but rather demonizing their executioners. They reveled in the hope that they would watch Christ consign their enemies to the fires of hell. Just as members of some terrorist groups wear suicide belts because they possess neither tanks ٢٠٨ artillery, Christians offered their bodies in a war against the world because it was the only weapon at hand. Once Christians gained access to state power, they remined the propensity to demonize their opponents and to characterize their struggles as martyrdoms . As Moss tells it, the Crusades were not a rejection of the martyrdom ethos of the ancient Church, but instead its logical conclusion. If Christians were not subject to sustained persecution, from whence comes this persecution narrative? Moss alleges that Acts of the Martyrs began to be written in earnest in the fourth century to buttress theological claims. Partisans in fourth century theological controversies claimed that their beliefs were orthodox because the martyrs had shed their blood for their beliefs. Martyrdom material also undergirded an emerging church bureaucracy headed by bishops. Por instance, the origins of the Church in Roman Gaul are shrouded in mystery, but Eusebius of Caesarea lent badly needed credibility to the Gallic ecclesial power structure when he wrote that the martyrs of Lyon requested Irenaeus to be their bishop. Martyrdom literature also served to attract pilgrims to shrines. Tourist dollars were good for the economy then as now. In The Myth of Persecution, Moss shifts baek-and-forth from historian to public intellectual. She wants to explode the myth of persecution because talk of persecution has a chilling effect ٨٠contemporary political discourse. When powerful people and vested interests wrap themselves in the mantle of persecution, they exempt their own positions from rational inquiry and attempt to silence those with whom they disagree. Moss prefers that the public square be a place where all truth claims are subject to rational analysis. She asks that we be willing to learn from one another and have the freedom and courage to change our minds, ft is hard to do any of these things when you take honest disagreement for persecution and your opponent for a servant of foe devil. Moss also worries that a persecution mindset prevents people from making important moral distinctions and from ^m ^ehendlng the complexity of contemporary conflicts. A “War ٨٠Christmas” is a very different thing than the experience of Christians being kidnapped and murdered in Nigeria by Boko Haram. Indeed, Christians arc not the only martyrs in foe world. The Chinese government has been a thorn in foe flesh to Falun Gong as well as Christianity. ISIL has persecuted bofo Christians and Yazidis in Iraq. Moss’s case regarding foe scope of martyrdom may be somewhat overstated. Martyr texts and shrines proliferated in foe fourth century because foe Church “had to run very fast indeed to stand still,” in the words ٠۴ historian Robert Markus.’ That is,the fourth century experience ofpeace diverged so sharply from previous Christian experience and from what Jesus had promised them that paradoxically, it generated deep anxiety. The literary output and building boom that memorialized foe suffering of previous generations meant to say, “We have always been a community of martyrs, and by venerating their relics and committing their memories to writing, we always

    Le m 259 15م


    Page 60

    will be.” Such massive efforts may mirror an earlier level of suffering that was deeper and broader than Moss’s minimalist reading of the evidence allows. Despite some exaggeration. Moss points the reader in the right direction. She demonstrates that the aneient Christian martyr was a more complicated and ambivalent figure than we were led to believe. So were the times in which the martyrs lived, ff imperial edicts expelled Christians from high pnblic office, then that is evidence that Christians were wielding political power before Constantine came on the scene. Not all Christians were meek as mice, rounded up and slaughtered as soon as they popped their heads out of the catacombs. Some were suicidal; others could only be described as passive-aggressive. Most did not suffer unto death. This Lent, the lectionary preacher will have to say a word about what it means to take up a cross and follow Jesus. He or she will have to address Christ’s “demonization ” of ?eter’s resistance to the cross. Furthermore, the preacher may find him ٢٠ herself in situations of congregational, personal, ٢٠social conflict. How can Moss’s historical revisionism help the preacher in the pulpit, the pastor’s study, on the streets, ٢٠in city council chambers? The argument that Moss presents in The Myth ofPersecution is largely deconstructive. She warns the preacher away from self-serving interpretations of cross-bearing and from a preoccupation with external enemies. In a sense, The Myth ofPersecution elaborates on a pithy quote that Pope Gregory I attributed to Cyprian, the martyred bishop of Carthage: Märtyrern non facit poena, sed causa; that is, “Penalties don’t make martyrs; causes do.”* Not every critical word the pastor hears is a cross to bear. Some may be the judgment of God—an accurate assessment of a deficiency the pastor needs to address. It is frustrating to pastors and parishioners that youth soccer tournaments sans prayers of invocation draw bigger crowds on Sunday morning than Christian worship, but indifference to the gospel is not the same as persecution, and irritation is not on par with death by crucifixion. At any rate, demonizing our secular neighbors is not likely to draw them into a relationship with Christ and his Church. Moss allows that martyrs “can inspire understanding and forgiveness,” and “can motivate those who are oppressed to stand up against political tyranny and social injustice .”3 How, she does not say. That constructive task is left to the preacher, whose call is to preach Christ crucified in such a way that parishioners are inspired to say, “I’m sorry,” and “I forgive you.” It is not easy to lift high the cross in such a way as to call the high and mighty to humble themselves while inspiring the meek of the earth to claim their rightful inheritance, but with the help of the Holy Spirit and aided by good scholarship like Moss’s and a pinch of self-awareness, preachers can fulfill that task.

    Notes 1 Robert A. M1؛rku^, The End of Ancient Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 90. 2 Pope Gregory 1, The Letters ofGregory ﺀ،اﺀGreat, translated by ! ١١٥ ]١H.C. Martyn (Toronto: Pontifica ؛ Institute of Mediaeval Studies. 2004). 222. 3 Moss, 261.