"When Peace Walks In"
John 20:19-23
April 19, 2009
St. Paul United Methodist Church
Rev. John A. Fleming
I have been in all kinds of churches in my life time. I grew up in a large one whose attendance hovered in the four hundreds. I preached there on the Sunday after Christmas just before I graduated from Seminary, a Sunday some preachers like to call National Associate Pastor Sunday. I thought about preaching from that line in the gospels where Jesus says that a prophet is not without honor except in his own hometown. I was a nervous wreck that Sunday. Those folks had watched me grow up. The sermon was awful!
On another Sunday after Christmas, I preached at a small church just outside of Fordyce, the Temperance Hill United Methodist Church. Susie was with me that morning. Including the two of us, there were five in attendance.
One Christmas Eve, Susie, her brother, mother, and I attended an eleven o'clock service at one of the largest churches in Nashville. The Sanctuary was filled to capacity. By the time we arrived, the only seats available were in the balcony. When it came time for their Senior Pastor to preach, he got up from his seat, walked over to the pulpit, climbed the winding staircase up, and preached. I am sure he didn't mean to, but Susie's brother said out loud, "He's climbing steps!" Everyone sitting near us turned and stared.
When I lived in Dallas, I attended a church whose worship service happened in a fellowship hall, at least I think that's what it was. For sure, it was just a big room. On any given Sunday, you could not be sure which direction you would be facing.
On one of my vacation Sundays a few years ago, after we got home from the beach, I went, with a friend of mine, to one of the worship services at Fellowship Bible Church. To be honest with you, I wanted to see what the draw was, why so many people attended there. We went to a contemporary service. There were a lot of folks milling around. Coffee and donuts were being served. There were rows and rows of chairs and a couple of screens up front where words would soon appear for us to sing. When the time came, someone, who I assumed was the preacher, stood up and led the service. He offered a prayer, led us through the announcements, baptized a baby, and turned the service over to the praise band. He seemed like a nice guy. I was looking forward to his sermon, but when it came time for that, some other man, preaching in another worship service on their campus, was video fed into our worship service. The sermon was good, but I didn't like the idea of watching it on a screen.
I have been in traditional Sanctuaries with lines of pews one right after another, places where the sun beaming through the stained glass windows stirred my soul. I have been in other churches that looked more like auditoriums that anything else. I sometimes wonder if I had the chance to design a church from one end of it to the other, to how it did Sunday School classes to what the worship space looked like, what would it look like, what would it feel like?
Well, I am pretty sure that it wouldn't look like the picture of the church that John paints in our gospel lesson for this morning, taken from the middle part of his twentieth chapter. Look at the snapshot of that church. There are no pews, no pipe organ, no stained glass windows. There is no order of worship and there is no preacher. In fact, according to John's gospel, the church is no longer meeting.
It is Easter evening. These disciples heard that Jesus was alive. Two of them, Peter and one other, had been to the tomb to see the emptiness of it for themselves. Mary ran and told all of them that she had talked with Jesus. This church ought not be locked behind closed doors. They ought to be out on the streets of Jerusalem preaching as loud as they could, telling anyone who would listen that the savior of the world was alive and well. This church should be telling the religious authorities that you can't kill a savior, but they didn't do that. They did not say that. In fact, they weren't saying anything.
Jesus had been preparing them for this day and also for what his church ought to look like. It should be a place where love is real, where boldness lived, where branches were connected to the vine, and a place where prayer and healing took place. Their church looks nothing like that. The doors are locked. They are hunkered down in fear.
What are they afraid of? John tells us, "When it was evening, on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews." They are shaking in their sandals. They are hoping no one will find out where they are hiding. They are scared and disheartened and defensive. If they had the chance to advertise their church in Saturday's religion section, what motto, what line would they use? They could not use the one the United Methodist Church uses, the one that reads that we are a church with open minds, hearts, and doors. Their doors aren't open. Their doors are locked.
They are afraid and I sometimes wonder if we are afraid, too. What do we have to be afraid of for our church? I will name it for us. In fact, I will name a few things that scare us. I think the pastoral change here in June scares us a bit. Some of the questions that we've been asking about our new pastor are these, "Will we like him? Will he like us? What will he be like? Will he be a good preacher and a faithful pastor? Will he love us? Will he make us laugh." I would remind you that these were the questions you asked seven years ago.
There is a church in Sheridan that is asking these same questions. I have heard some say, "This is the part about the United Methodist Church that I really don't like. I don't like the system." I answer that with this, "It is the system that brought us and kept us together for seven years." You are afraid, they are afraid, and if I'm honest with you, then I have to tell you that I'm afraid. Will they like me? Will I work well with them? Will they love my girls?
It is scary and wrapped inside it, jumbled with everything else is grief. We have done a lot of things together. You helped me in the most difficult time in my life and perhaps I've helped you in your most difficult time. It is going to be all right.
The change scares us a bit, but it is not the only thing. I think there is a part of us that is scared to try new things, to venture out there in faith, to throw a seed on the path to see if it will grow. We have tried new things here, but not nearly enough of them. I wanted us to have a contemporary worship service and so we started it. It lasted for four years. It was a blessing to me. The relationships that began there are ones I cherish. I miss that worship service.
Our church is strong and we want it to always be. We're going to celebrate one hundred years next year. It will be a great celebration and we want to know for sure we will be around in another hundred years. How do we make sure of that? Someone once asked Robert Schuller, the founding pastor of the Crystal Cathedral Church in California, what the secret to growing a church is. He said, "A lot of good parking." He is right, but it is much more than that. What do we do with our fears?
Do you huddle? Do you shake? Do you lock the doors? Well, I guess you can, but you can't keep Jesus out. That is what I love about our scripture lesson for this morning. Into their fear, Peace walked in. Listen to the first words out of Jesus' mouth to his disciples after his resurrection, "Peace be with you." Next Jesus showed them his hands and his sides and just in case they didn't hear what he said the first time, he said it again, "Peace be with you."
The truth is that no church can be a church without the presence of Jesus inside it. You can have ministries galore, youth retreats to Florida, softball teams, ceramic and yoga classes, but unless Jesus is in the midst of it all, it's not a church.
Our founder, Reverend John Wesley had a fear. His fear was not that the people called Methodist in Europe and America would cease to exist. His fear was that they would exist as a dead sect, having the form of religion, but not its power. He once said this, "Catch on fire with enthusiasm and people will come and watch you burn."
Look at what Jesus does. Jesus comes into that room, offers them a sign that he is who he is, gives them peace, the Holy Spirit, and a mission. What they are to do is to leave the bolted door behind and offer the world Jesus and forgiveness. Now that's a church!
Well, its getting late. Let me close with a story that Bishop Will Willimon tells. When he was in seminary Will served a little church thirty minutes north of Atlanta. The drive took him thirty minutes, but it sent him back in time forty or fifty years.
On his first Sunday, he arrived to find a padlock on the door, put there, he was told, by the Sheriff after a church meeting got out of control. At the end of it, people pulled the pews out of the church and took them home with them, pews given in memory of their mothers and fathers and grandparents. The sheriff thought the new preacher could straighten things out. Will tried, but the results were disappointing. There were fights in the parking lot after sermons on love. It was more than he could stand and so he asked to move after a year and his request was granted. On his last Sunday there, he shook the dust off his feet and left.
A couple of years later he met the pastor of that church. He was a kid, really, just twenty-three years old. Will says that his heart went out to him. The pastor said, "They still remember you out there." Will said, "I remember them, too." The pastor said, "They're a remarkable bunch of people." Will answered, "Yes, very remarkable." The new pastor said, "We've had a great year. The little church is supporting, in one way or another twelve troubled families in the community and the free day care is going well, too. You hardly ever see classes and races mixing so well." Will couldn't believe what he was hearing. He asked, "Are we talking about the same church?" The pastor nodded his head. He asked, "What happened?" The pastor said, "Well, after church one Sunday, we all knew that Jesus had walked in and had a plan for us. After that, things took off."
What happened? Peace walked in with a mission. What is the church supposed to look like? It is not up to me or you. It is not my hard work or your hard work. It is not long range planning or heavy duty giving. The church is a gift to us, the greatest gift I've ever received and here Jesus stands in the middle of it all. Let us pray.
(Special thanks to Bishop Willimon for the idea for this sermon and the closing story. Thanks to the churches who have put up with me through the years).