This is a sermon for those who dare to dream and take risks. It begins with a story about an Episcopal priest who, after the end of the Second World War, traveled throughout Europe to observe the aftermath of that massive conflict. As he traveled from city to city, village to countryside, he took particular interest in the condition of the continent’s many churches and cathedrals. Many of those structures were either totally or partially destroyed, and for those that were still standing, a warning sign often communicated the danger of touring those fragile buildings. The priest noticed that more often than not, the sign posted above the door announced the following: ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK…ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.Surely, such a message would be clear. This is not a secure place, for to enter those churches meant risking harm to oneself—from falling glass, brick or stone. Even the most casual tourist or observer would want to heed such a warning. And so, the priest made his pilgrimage around and through those structures with not a small degree of caution.
That story, emerging from an experience more than half a century ago, might offer, in some symbolic fashion, a new opportunity for us, in this present moment, to clarify the church’s mission and our relationship, as members, with the world in which we live, move and have our being. What if we decided to put a sign over the front door of this church that stated ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK? (This is not exactly your typical newcomer incorporation strategy!) As farfetched as this idea might be, it may actually not be theologically out of bounds at all. For this sign wouldn’t warn people about the risk of falling debris—glass, bricks or stone—but the risk of entering would involve something else; certainly something much deeper and profound.
This evening, we are gathered here to celebrate, at least formally, the beginning of a new ministry. Kurt Gerhard has been called and elected to serve and lead St. Patrick’s into the next phase of her life. But we would make an error in simply focusing all of our attention on Kurt, including the considerable gifts that he brings to the ordained ministry. We also need to reflect, on this occasion, on just what kind of community this parish seeks to become in order to live faithfully into the Gospel. That is something that as Rector, Kurt will always be pursuing, but it is also something that concerns every member of this congregation. In order to do this, imagine if you can, that there is a sign above the front door of this church stating ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK. Why would such a warning be needed? Is the message even appropriate? What would one be risking upon entering such a place?
Jim Wallis, the well known leader of the Sojourner’s community, an evangelical body working for peace and justice in our nation, writes that when he was a college student, he was proselytized by every Christian group on campus. In order to hold them at bay, Wallis would always respond to their various overtures by countering, “The church is hypocritical—you say one thing and do another—you’re really no different from the rest of the institutions in the world in how you behave.” He said the groups, in one way or another, always said, “Don’t look at the church; look at Jesus!” Jim Wallis believes that statement misses the mark, and I agree. It separates the living expression of Christ from the community of faith, and turns him into a distant, ethereal abstraction. As the Danish Philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard remarked, Christ is admired but not followed. Wallis goes on to say, “We should be able to look at the church, enter into its body, and see Jesus Christ.” This will certainly mean that the church will look and behave differently—radically differently—from what the world offers on a daily basis. So, ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.
To enter the church, the Body of Christ, is to risk becoming a different person—what St. Paul calls a new creation. It is to risk belonging to a very different community, one formed not out of despair but with hope; bound together not by self-interest, but by love and sacrifice; informed not by fear and death, but resurrection and life. Can we feel these qualities, these components, at work in our church? The Baptismal Covenant, now some thirty years working its way into the warp and woof of our communities, offers guidance on how we might practice risking some difference as the people of God: The words are certainly familiar—perhaps too familiar.
Question: Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbors as yourself?
Question: Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?
The fact that the emphasis in those two questions—serving Christ in all persons and respecting the dignity of every human being—demands a commitment to others well beyond our own circles of relationships and personal comfort zones. The church, from its very beginning, was never meant to be just another professional society, social club, or even much of a safe harbor. Archbishop William Temple once remarked that the church is the only body on earth whose primary purpose is to serve those who are not its members. What a radical concept that is in our own time—socially, politically, economically and spiritually.
ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK
What would such a community look like? How would it behave?
Clifton Presbyterian Church is located in what is now one of the older suburbs of the city of Atlanta. Every evening, near sundown, a group of parish volunteers begin a daily ritual of moving the furniture in the nave, up against the walls, in order to make room for their guests. The guests happen to be 50 homeless persons who will come to the church for a warm meal, wash their clothes, receive medical care for minor injuries, and have a safe place to sleep for the night. Early in the morning, after breakfast, they will leave the building and re-enter the streets for the day.
There are some success stories—stories of homeless men who were given a new start and are now employed. There are, of course, less fortunate endings as well. But this remains Clifton Church’s core mission and identity as a Christian community—to open their doors every evening so that others who have no other place to go can come and experience the church as home. The church is really the only home that they presently know.
You may be saying to yourself—So what? Lots of churches do that and on a much grander scale. In this case, it helps to know that Clifton Church has only 45 members on its membership roles. They have decided that whatever difference they can make in this world, whatever risks must be taken—they, small though they are, will do this together. In the process, they know the experience of creating abundance from scarcity—something that the earliest churches in history modeled for the world. They have become a living, concrete expression of Paul’s encouraging words: “Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.” To enter Clifton Church, to belong, is to enter at your own risk. It is to risk becoming a follower of Christ, wherever that may lead, and, in the process, leave behind distant admiration of the ever present living Lord.
This evening, we celebrate the formal institution of the Rector of St. Patrick’s Church. Symbols are to be offered and exchanged; commitments will be made once again; covenants established anew; promises will be spoken; and there will be a renewed energy in the room. Underneath the words, the signs, the symbols, the instruments of ministerial practice can be found that deeper question—the answer to which will be revealed over time as you work and pray together. What kind of community is God calling you to be? What difference would it make to us and to those known to God alone?
There is a scene in Alice Walker’s remarkable novel, The color Purple, when one of the characters asks a companion an interesting question: “Tell me the truth, did you every find God in church?” Her friend replies, “No, to tell you the truth, I didn’t…I just found a lot of people waiting for God to show up.” But then she made her point. “People don’t come to church to find God, they bring God in with them.” That is to say that the God we seek is the one who already dwells with us, working in and through us in ways that always surpass human understanding. It is also to say that there is already everything here to make the experience of Christ a concrete and living reality.
If there was ever a saint who believed such a thing it was Patrick. Rather than bring God to people, he was wise and creative enough to look for God within the people he was called to lead and serve. He not only believed that each one of us is created in God’s image, he knew it to be true, and thus he knew such an awareness would make us want to love more. His gift was in not dwelling on what separates us from God, but what draws us closer—thus, our identity is forever forged, not in our sinfulness, but in nurturing the divine light that shines in each and every heart. He risked being a different person, a different priest, a different bishop, and the communities in his care reflected this desire and purpose. Patrick is your namesake, your patron, your mentor and spiritual guide. I can’t think of a better theological footprint into which to place some metaphorical parish shoes for the journey ahead.
There is one final dimension that needs attention. Kurt, good and gifted priest of this church, pastor and teacher, lover of life and especially the links, cannot create such a community on his own. He will need all the help he can get—from God, to be sure, from friends, colleagues, and staff—and especially from all the members of this parish. Kurt is being presented as Rector, but in a very real sense, everyone here is renewing his or her own commitment to strengthen and support this community. That will indeed take some risk—mainly the risk of entering into relationships with one another in order that Christ can be made known. Your patron saint, Patrick, believed that the whole world is infused with the glory and presence of God—and that includes each and every person here.
Sometime and somewhere down the road—in some unknown moment, when the stories and accomplishments of Kurt’s time at St. Patrick’s are remembered and told, the greatest compliment of all that could be paid is not “look what we did because he was here,” but rather “look what we were able to do together!”
So…ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Discover and become the church God calls you to be. Risk being both faithful and different. Walk in the footsteps of Christ and your namesake. It will be a pilgrimage worth making…and a risk worth taking. There is a sign on the door…and it is good that it is there. ENTER SAINT PATRICKS AND ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Sermon
The Installation of the Rev. Kurt Gerhard as Rector
Of St. Patrick’s Episcopal Church; Washington D.C.
May 27, 2010.
The Rev. Charles James Cook
Resources and Notes
1. The priest referred to in the sermon is thought to be the late Very Reverend Gray M. Blandy, first Dean of The Seminary of the Southwest in Austin.
2. The story about Jim Wallis appeared in Sojourners Magazine.
3. I first encountered the mission of Clifton Church, Atlanta, on a trip with seminarians in January, 1989.
4. The conversation in Alice Walker’s The Color Purple is a well known and often quoted passage between the characters Celie and Shug.
5. Archbishop William Temple was a distinguished ecumenist and missioner within our own Anglican context.
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