Is Rupert Our Future?
Pentecost
June 4, 2006Church of the Covenant
The Rev. Dr. Robert J. Campbell, D. Min., D. D.
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Acts 2:1-9,12-17
Philippians 2:1-16
This is an interesting sermon to preach. There are in a way, two groups to share these moments with, you in the larger congregation and you, thirteen young men and women reflective of the great diversity of the congregation. Thirteen who in one sense have already preached an hour long sermon when you took that amount of time to share, in your own words, your languages, your statements of faith before a dinner gathering of 40 or 50, including session members, parents, mentors and ministers two weeks ago. At a time when one Session member said to me afterward, "Ya know, ya look at the church and most of the time you hear what's wrong, but then you see and hear this and ya know there's hope for the future."
The story in Acts is a strange one, almost mythical. One of tongues of fire, people hearing preaching in their own languages, and a town square alive with faith.
I remember a "festival of faith" we held one year in the little town of Washington, Pennsylvania. All the Presbyterian churches got together to make a statement of faith on Pentecost weekend. (Presbyterians are denser there than anywhere else; there are a lot of them.) The wind blew toppling the Christian flag, the rains about washed us away, and the banners and stoles faded red all over people's clothes. Gradually those gathered, including clergy and choirs, wandered away leaving a handful of wet worshippers too dumb to get out of the rain. That seems pretty reflective of the church today in a lot of ways.
So the question, "Why bother with the church?" Why join, because then you have to go to meetings, pledge, put up with everyone else's opinion, listen to complaints from every corner. There's that parody on the old hymn "Onward Christian Soldiers" that describes it, "Like a herd of turtles, moves the church of God, brothers we are treading where we've always trod." So why join the church?
I have a friend who has an English son-in-law named Rupert. It's a good English name and Rupert is a good hearted, strong willed, down to earth, chap, but what's telling about Rupert is when my minister friend and I get into a conversation about the church it quickly becomes clear that Rupert doesn't have a clue what we're talking about. The church to him is something that takes up valuable space on a city corner and if it weren't for the beautiful architecture, which he deeply appreciates, the space would be better used as a park or office building.
Like the person who was in search of Shakespeare's wedding records and discovered when looking for the cathedral vault that he had to apply for permission through the "Bureau of Ancient and Nonfunctional Artifacts," that being the category under which churches are listed in England, that's how Rupert sees them, as monuments without function.
Now mind you, Rupert is a decent fellow. He is caring, has a commitment to the poor, and volunteers at the local welfare agency. He is anything but hostile toward the church, but he doesn't have a clue of its purpose in modern society. Churches are simply those places where the upper class occasionally attend or are married or buried from and since Rupert is more the norm than the exception, then the question: Is Rupert our future?
The church, according to Niebuhr, is that body committed to Christ that tries to transform culture. (We talked about that a couple of weeks ago.) But more often than not it is the other way around and perhaps the best way to understand how it happens is through modern advertisement.
Ads tell us of an experience and Madison Avenue knows how to use our desires better than anyone. Levi "cotton Dockers" won an award a few years back for the best TV commercial. It was a classic. The theme centered on men's need to feel included. Three or four middle-aged guys are enjoying each others company. All are wearing Dockers and there sat three quarters of the male population, alone, glued to the TV yet, somehow vicariously feeling a part of that sixty second scene of how life might be if they were not alone.
Ads sell experience; they touch the core of what we're looking for, perhaps longing for. So we purchase the product hoping we can taste a little of the life they are selling. That's how our culture transforms us; it reflects our wants and needs and then convinces us it has ways to fill those empty places.
Like a recent health-spa advertisement maybe you've seen, a man or woman (there are two versions) working out on an exercise machine. The announcer says, "Baptism of sweat, respect yourself...," as if working up a sweat is an act of worship.
Or there's a great ad from England picturing a funeral parlor. The view shifts to the person in the casket watching the mourners passing by, comments over heard are; "nice tie, nice suit, must be from Higby's" The commercial ends with one visitor sneaking back and stealing the man's shoes saying, "It's tough to get the right clothes these days if you can't afford to go to Higby's."
Culture pokes fun at what people are afraid of. So what are we afraid of? What are we looking for? Is the church just a "nonfunctional artifact?" Is that what these young men and women have signed on to today?
There is an old Statler Brothers' song, do you even know who the Statler Brothers were? Some of the folks my age do, but regardless who sings them, a lot of the lyrics are the same.
"Tom's sellin' used cars, Nancy's fixin' hair; Harvey runs a grocery store and Margaret doesn't care. Jerry drives a truck for Sears, Paul sells life insurance and part-time real estate. And the class of '57 had its dreams. We all thought we'd change the world with our great works and deeds; or maybe we just thought the world would change to fit our needs. The class of '57 had its dreams. Betty runs a trailer park, Jan sells Tupperware, Randy's in the insane ward and Mary's on welfare; Charlie took a job with Ford, Joe took Freddy's wife, Charlotte took a millionaire and Freddy took his life. But the class of '57 had its dreams."We all have our dreams and then there is life and reality takes its toll. The class of '57 had its dreams and so does the class of '06 and '07. So put those words along side the church hymn that says, "I ask no dream, no prophets' ecstasies. No sudden rending of the veil of clay, no angel visitant, no opening skies. (All I ask is) take the dimness of my soul away." Why the church? Why join?
Among other things I would say what a member once said to me, "The church is a social insurance policy. It assures us that 'nothing really can separate us from God's love' nor from the care of one another; or at least it should do that!'”
The church, I would contend, is not the body of Christ but rather a body birthed by God's Spirit on Pentecost, yet still a body built with frail human hands and hearts and minds. Therefore, a body in search of becoming. The church is a body seeking, trying, struggling to be "Christ like" in spirit, in spite of all our human failings.
That's what Paul had in mind when he said to the people in Philippi, "As you come together do nothing from selfishness, but give yourselves away and in so doing you will discover who you really can become as you join in a community of unconditional love."
Once in a long while we see glimpses of that. I saw it once as about 50 individuals sat in a room. They had come together from different circumstances, communities, classes, race, gender, and orientation backgrounds with the only thing in common being the personal pain each one carried. One by one over the course of several days each had offered that pain up in story after personal story in the presence of their peers who gradually were no longer strangers. It is a very threatening thing to do, expose yourself, become vulnerable before others. At the last exercise all stood in a circle, bread and wine were shared, there were tears and joy and laughter and finally an ending song, "Amazing Grace how sweet the sound that saved (not a wretch but) a soul like me." And then in the distance bagpipes played. The whole body embraced as the circle closed tighter around a mat where a beautiful young man in the final stages of AIDS lay helpless. The whole community embraced him as the words were sung, "I was blind, but now I see." "Take the dimness of my soul away."
I saw some of that just the other night. It was not the normal, restrained, well planned Session meeting. It was pretty chaotic. Young people trying to say what they believe; some with high school schedules beckoning, some already having experienced the tough realities of our world, proud parents and mentors, elders who may not be as distinguished looking and fearsome as in generations passed, all the same representing a somewhat foreboding body, all gathered around a large table, perhaps reflective of that great banquet table imagined by John in the Book Of Revelation when the church triumphant gathers and God's kingdom finely comes.
I've seen a lot of young people join churches over the years. Some groups are better than others. I'm not sure why. One thing I do know is what another officer reminded me of: that the church, any church, all churches are only one generation away from extinction. All young people are only one generation from becoming the new Ruperts of the world.
I'm still a little bit of an outsider here; these are not my kids. They are the product of your answers to the question, "Do you the people of the church promise to teach this child?" They are the product of parents who took seriously a promise to raise them in understanding God's ways. And they are the products of their own thinking that has caused them to stand in contrast to the pressures they encounter every day of their lives.
Is Rupert our future? No, these young men and women are our future! And why do we make such a fuss over them? Because they may one day be the ones who will help us see what the real church can be and in turn, what God's world can become. We as a congregation are privileged to put our future into your hands.
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