June 22, 2008
“Keep It ‘Lite,’ Jesus”
John 6:56-69
What have been historically
called the “mainline” protestant churches—and we United Methodists have been
put into this category, along with Presbyterians, Lutherans, the United Church
of Christ, Disciples of Christ and Episcopalians—are criticized and taken to
task in any number of books, articles and studies for making our faith too
undemanding and comfortable, for softening Jesus’ teachings and easing up on
the commitment of discipleship. Some
have ridiculed us as “sideline” churches and others as “lite” churches. You know, as in “l-i-t-e,” the word by which
we now designate food products with fewer calories and less fat content.
Someone with tongue-in-cheek
described a “lite” church as “one with 24% fewer commitments, the home of the
3% tithe, and the 45-minute worship service.
A “lite” church holds up only eight of the Ten Commandments and each
member gets to choose which eight they want to keep.” The “lite” church is user friendly—nothing is
ever said to offend or disturb anyone, as there’s no talk of sin, sinner,
confession, salvation or evil. In the
“lite” church, everything is orchestrated to meet the emotional needs of the
congregation. Everyone in the “lite”
church expects to be entertained and to leave the worship service feeling
happy.
Well, our age is not the
first to lighten up on faith’s radical demands, to ease up on discipleship and
obedience, and to try to domesticate God.
In this morning’s reading from the Bible, John records that some of
Jesus’ disciples and followers, when Jesus’ message and mission began to sink
in, and confronting them with the need to make specific decisions and
commitment, complained, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” John then reports, “Because of this many of
his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him.” What really prompted such defection was when
Jesus told his followers that “believing and knowing him” involved
participation in his death as a means to sharing eternal life. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer put it, “When Jesus
calls, he calls us to die.” No wonder
Jesus stopped people in their tracks, and made some turn on their heels and get
away as fast as they could. People came
to Jesus to get their problems solved painlessly, to get their lot in life
improved, to find some happiness and fulfillment, and to position themselves
for rewards and status in the Kingdom.
They did not come to Jesus to be told that they had “to take up a cross,
to deny themselves, to give themselves away as a servant, walking second and
third miles in ministry, to take the last place in line, to love their enemies,
and to sacrifice their lives for the sake of love.
Many of those who deserted
Jesus were very close to him. We don’t
know just how many left him, but I suspect more than we might think. And I’m sure that some left a parting shot at
Jesus, saying “Lord, you need to keep it ‘lite.’ You need to ease up a little. What you’re asking is more than should be
expected of anyone. Lord, your plan
isn’t going to work. You’re not going to
get many people to follow you all the way, if it means what you say it
does. Lord, we admire your high idealism
and your own flawless sense of mission and obedience, but don’t expect others
to feel as you do or be willing to carry out what you command, especially if it
involves choosing to die. You’d better
find another approach that’s more attractive and easier.”
Of course, not all of Jesus’
followers bailed out. In fact, Jesus
asked those who remained, “Do you also wish to go away?” Simon Peter replied immediately, “Lord, to
whom can we go? You have the words of
eternal life. We have come to believe
and know that you are the Holy One of God.”
Others shared Peter’s commitment and, despite some lapses, most of them
ended up dying for their Lord. Because
they did and because there were others across the centuries whose witness for
Christ took the risks and paid the cost of discipleship, we come together this
morning. We also come together because
our own lives have been touched by the Lord.
Somewhere we met Jesus and we’ve had to decide and keep on deciding
whether to follow him and how far.
There may be some among us
who once turned away from Jesus, wanting nothing to do with him, not wanting to
be bothered or inconvenienced by his teachings and ethical demands, but who are
now back, who have come home, wistfully yearning for that which the world and
its prizes did not offer, but still undecided if they want to follow Jesus
completely, whether they want to risk the changes that will come, the
challenges that will confront them, the people they will be asked to serve.
There will be some among us
who will want to appeal to Jesus to “keep it ‘lite,’ Lord.” Keep it “lite” because we’re not sure we want
to obey all the commandments. We’re not
sure we want to serve on the frontiers and at the crossroads; to get our hands
dirty; to sacrifice our personal ambitions or jeopardize our status by speaking
out and taking a stand; to get involved and be misunderstood and criticized; to
show love to the marginalized and stigmatized people in our society. We’ll follow you, Lord, but only so far. Sometimes, though, we’ll follow you only far
enough to say we’ve been there.
I may have mentioned in other sermons Clarence
Jordan who, along with his wife, followed Jesus farther than most when in 1942
they founded Koinonia Farms near
“Clarence, I
can’t do that,” Robert replied. “You
know my political aspirations. Why, if I
represented you, I might lose my job, my house, everything I’ve got.”
“We might lose
everything, too, Bob,” Clarence said.
“It’s
different for you,” Robert commented.
“Why is it
different?” Clarence asked. “I remember,
it seems to me, that you and I joined the church the same Sunday as boys. I expect when we came forward the preacher
asked me the same questions he did you.
He asked me, ‘Do you accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior?’ And I said, ‘Yes.’ What did you say, Bob?”
“I follow
Jesus, Clarence, up to a point,” Robert replied.
“Could that
point by any chance be—the cross?” Clarence wanted to know.
“That’s
right,” Robert responded. “I follow
Jesus to the cross, but not on the cross.
I’m not getting myself crucified.”
“Then I don’t
believe you’re his disciple, Robert,” Clarence declared. “You’re an admirer of Jesus, but not a
disciple. I think you ought to go back
to the church you belong to and tell them you’re an admirer, not a disciple.”
“Well, now,”
Robert retorted, “if everyone who felt like I do did that, we wouldn’t have a
church, would we?”
“The question
is,” Clarence said, “do you have a church?”
“Could that point by any chance be—the cross?” The apostle Paul said, “I have to preach the cross.” Why? Fred
Craddock, one of my favorite teachers and preachers, shares these thoughts:
Let me
introduce the answer by saying, “I don’t know.”
What I say from here on are my thoughts.
I think the cross is a reminder—and I am sorry we have to have it—of the
cruelty and violence and sin in the world that affects people who had nothing
to do with it. Even in high places,
proper places, white collar places, there is a lot of ugly, cruel, evil power
that crushes and hurts. You know that
this is so.
But I think
the primary reason Paul had to preach the cross is because the cross tells us
how God is. God identifies with human
suffering; God comes to us and suffers with us, and that sympathy is
extraordinarily powerful.
Some years
ago, the Greek author Nikos Kazantzakis wrote The Last Temptation of
Christ. The book was made into a
controversial movie that was protested and boycotted all over the country. In his novel, Kazantzakis basically said that
when Jesus got into Jerusalem and the noose was tightening around his neck and
there was no way out and death was in front of him, he thought, “Why don’t I
just go back to Nazareth, marry, have a family, take up carpentry again, and
get out of this? Nobody seems to care
anyway.” If Jesus had done that, if he
had slipped out of town, gone back to Nazareth, married, had children, lived
like everybody else, would we be able to sing, “O Jesus, I Have Promised?” No, no, not at all. If he had skipped out before the pain started
… but he did not do that. He went to the
cross.
Sometimes a
child falls down and skins a knee or an elbow, then runs crying to his or her
mother. The mother picks up the child
and says—in what is the oldest myth in the world—“Let me kiss it and make it
well,” as if the mother has magic saliva or something. She picks up the child, kisses the skinned
place, holds the child in her lap, and all is well. Did her kiss make it well? No, no.
It was that ten minutes in her lap.
Just sit in the lap of love and see the mother crying. “Mother, why are you crying? I’m the one who hurt my elbow.” “Because you hurt,” the mother says, “I
hurt.” That does more for a child than
all the bandages, and all the medicine in the world, just sitting on her
lap. What is the cross? Can I say it this way? It is to sit for a few minutes on the lap of
God, who hurts because we hurt.
Paul said, “I
have to preach that.” So do I.
To follow all the way to the cross or to follow Jesus on the cross. That is
the question, of course. If we follow
Jesus only so far, if we ease up on discipleship, soften Jesus’ teachings and
make God’s Word conditional and comfortable, if we belong to a “lite” church,
do we really have a church? Jesus’
answer to that question is unmistakable: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord,
Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but those who do the will of my
Father in heaven.” Or as Jesus declares
in this morning’s reading from the Bible, “It is the spirit that gives life;
the flesh is useless. The words that I
have spoken to you are spirit and life.
But among you there are some who do not believe.”
While the choice is ours to
make, Jesus said the Holy Spirit is always quietly at work in our minds and
souls, in our hearts and lives, unsettling us into greater faith, pursuing us
where we wander, and beckoning us toward certainty and belief and deeper
courage and commitment. We may be
content belonging to a “lite” church and having a “lite,” token faith, but God
is not. God has given us truth and
eternal life in Jesus Christ and bids us claim them for life that is fully
alive now, and for life that will not end.
When Leslie Newbigin was
Anglican Bishop of South India, he preached one day at the
The young man stammered
around a moment and then replied, “I don’t know. I guess I’m supposed to be a Christian.” Bishop Newbigin then said gently to him, “You
know what, young man? If I were you, I
wouldn’t worry too much about Mohammed or Buddha until I made up my mind about
Jesus Christ. Depending on what you do
with him, your path in life will then take shape.”
“Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. And we have come to believe and know that you
are the Holy One of God.” So be it! Let us pray:
God of gentle dreams and awesome space, cultivate in
our hearts a faith that is tall and sure.
In a frivolous and fake society that worships things and preys on our
fears, we often feel confused and alone.
Create in us a spirit that overcomes hopelessness without avoiding necessary
grief, that celebrates in spontaneous joy without forced smiles and contrived
entertainment, and that accepts responsibility without the burden of
obligation. No mind here is without
doubt, and we would not ask for that.
However, we do ask for the hope of a summer rain, the certainty of the
sunrise, the wonder of new growth, the power of silence, and the peace that
remains beyond expression, yet never beyond your holy presence. In Christ’s name, we pray. Amen.