from "JESUS’ OTHER LAST WORDS"
by Michael L. Lindvall,
May 18, 2008
at The Brick Presbyterian Church in the City of New York
from brickchurch.org/383030373D646926656372756F7365727465673D716572.res
...
There’s no doubt in my mind that these words about belief shape what churchgoers actually do the rest of the week. This continuity between what we say we believe in church on the one hand, and what we do out of church on the other, is, quite simply, called integrity. And God help us if it that continuity between what we “say” and what we “do” ever be greatly broken.
There is a little non-Biblical parable I like to rehearse every once and again that’s about just this subject – the integrity between what we believe as a church and how we live as a church in the world. It goes like this: "Along a windswept and rocky coastline there were a great many shipwrecks. The survivors of these shipwrecks were forever in need of rescue from the icy waters. They needed food, warm shelter, and some loving reassurance after their ordeal. To accomplish this service, numerous life-saving stations grew up along the coast. Volunteers gave their time and resources, often risking their lives for others. They braved the surf in their lifeboats to rescue the drowning. They fed, housed and comforted countless storm-tossed survivors.
As the centuries passed, many of these life-saving stations grew in reputation as bright and safe havens from the storms of life. The members of the life-saving stations enjoyed each others' company, enjoyed their meetings and club ceremonies. Some members found great satisfaction in keeping the stations neat and their lifeboats ship-shape.
As the ages rolled by, some life-saving station members suggested that risking your neck in small boats for the sake of strangers was well, foolish. ‘People who put out to sea ought to know the risks they’re taking and accept responsibility for themselves. After all,’ they asked, ‘is their safety really our problem?’ Other members noted that the survivors who washed up on the beach made a real mess in the life-saving stations, wet and sick as they were, and that all the food and blankets and lifeboats were a strain on the budget.
Some of the stations stopped sending out boats at all, and no longer offered care for the survivors of storms. They kept their lifeboats, however. In fact, they painted them beautifully and moved them inside as objects of veneration and remembrance. And they kept up the buildings. They had meetings, continued to enjoy each others' company, and held their traditional ceremonies. But outside their doors, the storms still blew and ships still foundered.”
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The mortal (and I mean mortal) danger that every church eternally faces is that it become just a pleasant fellowship of the like-minded, a vaguely spiritual club for people who are culturally comfortable with each other.
The mortal (and I mean mortal) danger that every church eternally faces is that it become a weekly liturgical cult, enjoying fine music, relishing a little oration, and reveling in some marching about in uniform.
The mortal (and I mean mortal) danger that every church eternally faces is that it become no more than a successful business that never makes a profit, but keeps the building up, pays the oil bill, employs some nice people, and worries on little more than all that.
The challenge to new members, the call to you who are about to be ordained, in fact, the task of every one of us who takes Jesus Christ even a little bit seriously is nothing less than this: to guard and strengthen the connection, the continuity, the integrity between what we believe and what we do.
Jesus only got two and a half verses for his “other last words,” these last words of the First Gospel. And he used them to remind us to do what we believe.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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