Will
you pray with me? Lord, may the words of
my lips and the meditations of all
our hearts
be
acceptable in your sight, our rock and our redeemer.
Amen.
Will you pray with me?
Lord, may the words of my lips and the meditations of all
our hearts be
acceptable in your sight, our rock and our redeemer.
These days, in churches like Old South, that
is to say
liberal and/or progressive churches, “witness” is a word you don’t hear
very
often. “Witness” as in faith witness, as
in preachers thundering, “Can I get witness?!” from the pulpit. “Witness” as in one human soul risking
telling the story of that soul and God to other human souls. “Witness” as in telling the world what God
has done in your life.
If you’re like me, words like “witness” and
“testify” conjure
up images of courtrooms and juries, not church.
For others of us, these words no doubt evoke memories of
being trapped
in uncomfortable conversations with over-zealous coworkers, or of
strange,
teary people giving witness on televangelists’ TV programs. For others, they may not really mean much at
all.
We don’t use those words much in places like
Old South, and
we don’t spend much time talking about how to do those
things. Why that
is, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because
we’re worried about offending others or trapping them into sitting
through our
stories, or because we’re rightly concerned about overstepping our
bounds in a
religiously pluralistic society. Perhaps
it’s because we’re worried, here in our largely rational, scientific,
overeducated context, about the reactions we will elicit from our
hearers. Perhaps it’s because our mainline
churches
were for so long the establishment churches, and we just didn’t need to
learn
to tell our faith stories because everyone we knew was already in
church with
us.
I suspect it’s a little of all those things. And yet, witness and testimony are—have
always been—deeply important in both the Jewish and the Christian
traditions. They are the primary way the
story of our God has traveled through the human world and to human
hearts.
When Naaman the Aramean was ill, it was the
testimony of one
young slave girl that turned him to his healing and his conversion. Not the kings, or the general, or even the
prophet himself. One young girl said
what she knew of God, and an ailing man was healed, and the grace of
God headed
even further out into the world on the lips of a foreign general.
When Jesus needed the towns and villages to be
prepared for
his coming, he sent the seventy ahead of him into a dangerous and
unstable
world. And so the news spread, and
grew. And once the people started
telling their stories, not even death, not even Jesus’ death, could put
a stop
to it.
Earlier I said that we don’t think much
about witnessing and testifying. But we do
think about it some, don’t we? Even in the
two years I’ve been here, I’ve
seen a growing hunger to share our stories, to learn to witness to each
other
and the world. Nancy and Tadd and I have
heard from many of you about the witnessing you have done in your own
lives,
about the ways in which it is difficult and a little scary, and deeply,
deeply
powerful. Many of you have told friends
and family about the God you’ve met here at Old
South Church
in Boston,
and
have brought those friends and family to join us. In
the congregational spiritual discernment
process we undertook last year, and which will continue this fall, we
heard God
whispering to us that we need to learn more, to do more, to share our
faith and
tell our stories about God. A couple of
weeks ago, a new group called Bread for the Spirit began here at Old
South,
with the aim of giving people a space to share their stories.
So I think we do do some witnessing here at
Old South, and I
think we’re hungry for more. But it is
not easy. It can make you feel like
sheep among wolves. And it does take
preparation
and a little practice to learn to witness, so in that spirit, to gauge
where we
are as a congregation and perhaps to learn a little about witnessing as
well, I
offer you…a quiz.
The quiz is called, “Are you ready to talk
about God?” Now, fear not, you who have test
anxiety. This will not be graded, and no
one but you will know your results. If
you’ve ever done a Cosmo quiz before, you’ll know what we’re doing here. If not, just bear with me and you’ll get
it. We’ll have six questions in the form
of six scenarios and for each question I’ll ask you to choose from
three
options what you would do in each. You
might want to keep track of your answers so you can score yourself when
you’re
done. You can borrow the pen from the
pew pads or use your own. But if you
don’t have anything to write with or don’t want to keep score, don’t
worry;
that’s fine, too. Ready?
Here goes.
1. You’re at a party talking to your friend
Bill about
something going on at church, and Joan, a slight acquaintance of yours,
overhears you. Joan says, a little
aggressively, “You go to church? Why?”
How do you respond? Do you:
a.
Point
frantically over her shoulder, shriek, “Oh my God!
Look!” and hide behind the curtains while
everyone’s head is turned.
b.
Shrug and say,
“Uh, I dunno. They have good coffee at
fellowship hour.”
c.
Say, “Mostly,
it’s because I experience things there I don’t experience much
elsewhere in my
life: it’s a chance to sit and be quiet and think about what’s
important, it
challenges me to live as the sort of person I want to be, and best of
all, it’s
the place where I’m most consistently aware of God’s presence in my
life.”
2. When Bill, the friend you were originally
talking to,
says, “I’m a very spiritual person, but I just don’t like organized
religion,”
do you:
a.
Say, “Yeah,
I don’t blame you. You should see what a
mess my church is.”
b.
Kick him in
the shins while yelling, “I hate when people say that!
It’s such a copout! What does
that even mean?!”
c.
Say, “You
know, you’d be surprised how many people in my church feel the same way. There’s a lot not to like about organized
religion; it sounds like you might have experienced some of that. Me, too, but I try not to blame God for
everything God’s followers do. And then
again, members of organized religions have done some pretty incredible
things
over the years, too. Plus, not every
organized religion is the same. You
should come check out mine.”
3. Joan says, “OK, whatever, but you don’t
actually believe
in God, though, right?” Do you:
a.
Thank your
host for a lovely party and leave at once before anyone can ask any
more
difficult questions.
b.
Laugh
uncomfortably and say, “I don’t know.
Probably not. But church
activities look great on my kid’s college applications.”
c.
Say, “Actually,
I do. Some days it’s harder than others,
but I’ve felt God at work in my life and seen God at work in the world
too
often to not believe in God or to stop working on knowing more. I struggle with my faith all the time, but I
have to do what my heart tells me.”
4. Joan presses you further: “Yeah, but why do you believe? I mean,
it’s the 21st century! Why
not leave superstition in the Middle Ages where it belongs?” Do you:
a.
Frown
threateningly and say, “I believe in God because the Bible says that
bad, bad things happen to those who don’t
believe. So you’d better get on the
bandwagon.”
b.
Say, “I
can’t really explain it. Maybe you
should ask my minister.”
c.
Say, “Well,
I believe in God because I’ve met God. When
we’re doing stuff together at my church, like singing or praying or
going on
service projects, or sometimes when I’m alone out in the woods, there’s
a power
I sense there that’s beyond just me. It
feels like being more than the sum of the parts. Also,
a few years ago, I got a really scary
diagnosis at the doctor’s office. I had
never felt so alone in my life. Then one
day this feeling of being loved just washed over me, and I knew that
God was
there. And then all these church members
showed up to visit me in the hospital, and I knew that the feeling of
being
loved I’d had wasn’t just a feeling; it was real. A
psychologist or a sociologist might call
those things something else, but I call them God because that’s what
they feel
like to me.”
5. A man who’s been hovering on the edge of
the conversation
till now hesitantly says, “You mentioned something about prayer. I have this problem I’ve been dealing with
for a long time now. I’ve done
everything I can think of, and nothing seems to be helping. I’m ready to try anything.
Does praying really work?” Which
of these do you say:
a.
“Wow, you
must really be a wreck if praying is all you have left.”
b.
“I can’t
really answer that. Truth is, I don’t
pray that much myself and I tend to kind of space out whenever the
minister
starts praying in church.”
c.
“Well, it
depends on what you mean when you ask if it works.
I don’t think prayer is like a magic wand
that you get to wave and make it all better.
But I do think God hears our prayers.
And I can tell you that I usually feel at least a little
better after I
pray, and my life just seems to work better when I do it regularly. It doesn’t solve all my problems for me, but
it does help me get through them.”
6. Joan is unconvinced, and says, “Well, I’m
sorry, but I
can’t buy any of this stuff. It’s OK if you need it, but it just isn’t for
me.” What’s your response?
Is it:
a.
“Well,
that’s too bad. I just hope for your
sake that Hell isn’t as bad as they say it is.”
b.
“That’s OK! To each his own, I always
say! And it’s not like God’s that big a
deal, anyway.”
c.
“Fair
enough. I guess it won’t surprise you if
I say I think you’re missing out on something good, but I totally
respect your
position. And if any of you guys ever
want to talk more about it, maybe you could come with me to church some
day. There are lots of us there with the
same questions we’ve been talking about here.
We don’t have all the answers to the questions, but we think
God’s happy
we’re asking them. And we always say,
‘No matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, you’re
welcome
here’, and we mean it.”
The end. OK,
so now it’s time to score yourself. Look
over your answers. If you answered “c” to
all the questions, you
are ready to talk about God and make a witness to the world. If you answered “a” or “b” to any of them…God
loves you just the same.
The point is this: Like
Naaman, the world needs our witness and our testimony.
There are broken and aching people out there
longing to hear a hopeful and a healing word from someone who knows. There are ones like Naaman out there, ones
who have never heard of the God we know, who have only ever been told
about
other kinds of Gods, judgemental and wrathful and hateful and violent,
ones for
whom your witness might be like the healing waters of the Jordan
on blistered and peeling
skin.
And God needs your
witness, too.
As Jesus sent the seventy out to prepare the people’s hearts
for what
they would meet and receive in him, God sends us out, too, to make the
way
ready for God’s own coming into the hearts of those we meet. As surely as we have received and lived the
good news in our own lives, we are called to tell the story of that
living to
those whom we meet. It is not easy, it
will not always be well-received, it is embarrassing, it does take
practice, but
it is our call and our sending.
I believe that here at Old
South we have begun the task of relearning the old, old skill of
witnessing to
God’s action in our lives, and I praise God for that.
For the harvest is plenty but the laborers
are few, and our witness is just what God and the world need. Amen.
