INTRODUCTION TO WORLD COMMUNION SUNDAYToday, on World Communion Sunday, a remarkable thing is happening. Christians around the world – Orthodox, Catholic and Protestant – are gathering to share Christ’s meal in a symbolic expression of our unity, despite our differences and diversity.
Chinese Christians are secretly gathered in house churches. African Christians, in open-air chapels, dance to the rumbling beat of drums. Native Americans, in adobe dwellings, chant praise to the Great Spirit. From European cathedrals with the sound of choirs and great organs to revival tents with gospel music and hand-clapping, Christ’s people are, for this day at least, one people: partaking of one faith and one hope,and eating together at a common table. It is marvelous in God's sight.
PRAYER
Let us pray. Gracious and holy God, let your good news come to us, not in word only, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit. Make us humble and teachable, a people of mercy and faith, who are eager to hear and do what Christ has taught. In whose name we pray. Amen.
Just down the street from here there is a very special church ... well, another very special church. Like this congregation, they gather in the same place, Sunday after Sunday, surrounded by familiar things. Like those of you who gravitate toward the same pew or section of the sanctuary, so do members of this congregation: each week, worshippers gravitate to their favorite part of the sanctuary.
What is unusual about this congregation is that most of the members are homeless … and their sanctuary is located out of doors. Some of you know of this congregation -- called Common Cathedral. Their art has been displayed here. I serve on their board of directors. Their sanctuary is located on the Boston Common, by the fountain, under the large Elm tree. Or, it used to be under the large Elm tree. This summer the Elm tree had to be cut down, and their beloved Cathedral was forever changed.
Still, each Sunday they continued to gather, each worshipper gravitating to the same spot to which they had always gone. What was different was that in the summer the sun bore down on them. When it rained, they had no cover.
They felt just as exposed as this congregation would feel if, God forbid, by some accident, or act of nature, or act of terror this building were to be taken away. It would be as if, out of fealty to this familiar place, this congregation continued to gather here on a now empty lot to worship God without the comfort and security of a building. After all, the previous senior minister often referred to this location as the hub of the hub of the world. Not a bad address. Not the sort of address a congregation easily gives up. So we wouldn’t think of deserting it, would we?So, even without their Elm tree, the members of Common Cathedral continued to gather in their sanctuary. On hot and humid Sundays, they suffered under the sun. On other Sundays, they were rained on. The minister hoped they might consider relocating … not far, mind you, nothing radical, just to the other side of the fountain, under the shade of some trees. To this end, the minister organized discussion groups, and preached sermons on being a pilgrim people … people who were free to move and adjust to new circumstances.
You might think that this metaphor of pilgrim and pilgrimage would speak well to a congregation of homeless people. In fact, in the pain of homeless, unsettled lives, the location of their Cathedral meant a great deal to them. It was one place, one home, to which they could always return.
Finally, about a month ago, they were ready to make the big move. For the first time they held worship in a new location, on the other side of the fountain, under some trees. It worked, and everyone adjusted nicely to this new home.
Then, last Sunday, the air turned chill. Under the shade of the trees, cut off from the sun, the congregation shivered. Observing her shivering flock, the minister suggested they could move back to their former sanctuary, on the other side of the fountain, where they would feel the sun’s warmth. They did. And, then the minister told them – do you know what she told them? She said, “We are rich. For unlike other congregations, we have a summer church and winter church”.
The Hebrew word for house and home, also means dwelling and temple. It is one of the 50 most frequently used words in the Hebrew Scriptures. Together, with the Greek word of the same meaning in the New Testament, it appears some 2000 times in the Bible.
The Bible is full of references to the household of God, the house of Israel, and the household of faith. In one of his most passionate acts, Jesus cleanses the religious house, the temple, so that it could become “a house of prayer for all the nations.” (Mark 11.17) For after all, in biblical and Christian language, a house of prayer is more likely to refer to the people rather than the dwelling; to the community, rather than the architecture.
Here, in this house of prayer, carved into rock in the portico, are these words from the Bible: “Behold, I set before you an open door.” When I asked the Search Committee what image or metaphor best captures the life of this congregation, that is what they pointed to. May this invitation and welcome, be carved on our hearts, as clearly and boldly as it is carved into stone. May we extend a warm welcome to all who come. And if you are a visitor here today may you indeed experience our hospitality, our warmth and welcome in the name of Christ who is our host.
Across cultures, across this beautiful and fragile planet, the household in all its many varieties is a place where human life is to be nurtured … where women and children experience shelter and peace, where the weary find rest, and the stranger finds acceptance, and the hungry are fed. The home is where you belong; and where, at least in its ideal form, you are safe and loved.
In his parable of the homebuilders, Jesus describes two men. The first builder is a thoughtful man. He plans ahead and he is not afraid of work. I like to imagine that he gathers his friends – people whose wisdom and experience he trusts. He shows them possible sites for his future home: here, or perhaps there, or maybe there. Together, they walk the properties, consider the prospects, and weigh the options. Then he and his friends work hard, digging down to find the rock, the firm foundation, on which to build.
The second man, the foolish man, isn’t a bad man. But he is impatient and lazy. He wants to avoid the toil of digging down to a rock foundation. Clearly, he doesn’t consult his friends. He builds his home in a smooth wadi, like our Southwestern arroyos. But in the rainy season, it becomes a raging river and his house is swept away.
This parable appears in both Matthew’s and Luke’s Gospels. In Mathew’s Gospel it is the culmination of the Sermon on the Mount. In Luke’s Gospel, it is the culmination of the Sermon on the Plain. In both instances, in other words, it appears as the climax of what is widely regarded as the core of Jesus’ teaching.
The parable, of course, isn’t really about rock or sand, mud or wood. It isn’t about Elm trees and it isn’t about Roxbury puddingstone … the material out of which Old South is built. It is about what we stand on and what we stand for. It is about the foundation of Christian teaching.
The fact is that none of us is unfailingly as wise as the wise builder, or as patently foolish as the foolish builder. Yet, whether wise or foolish, we are and will be hit again and again by the winds and rains of one storm or another – storms with names like Ivan, Frances and Jeanne, but also other kinds of storms that threaten us: acts of terrorism, acts of war, personal tragedy, illness, or children being shot in the streets of this city.
In Jesus’ parable, we can’t escape the storms. We can withstand them, endure them, and survive them.
Even as storms rage around us or in us, we are invited to enter God’s house, come in, and sit down. We are invited to a meal: bread and cup, food and drink. The table is spread for all, all, all: rich and poor, wise and foolish, lost and found, homeless and housed, gay and straight, member and visitor, saint and sinner.
Here, together, we build something more lasting than a mighty Elm tree, sturdier even than this Northern Italian Gothic structure. In the end, then, the home and church we build together is not as much a place as it is a movement, a quality of relationships, and a way of living and being together on this earth.
For the true foundation upon which this building rests is that of faith. Here, together, we build faith – not in the things of this world, not in the false security of arms and armaments, but in the power of God’s mercy to save us even from ourselves.
Here we build community – even as the world around us succumbs to chaos and enmity. We will not succumb. For every time our leaders burn a bridge between ourselves and others, we will build another bridge.
Here we acknowledge that the state and the church are different things all together. The state is defined by its borders. But the church knows no borders … no such limitations or divisions, for we stand on the foundation of the Bible’s claim that “God has made from one blood all the peoples of the earth”. (Acts 17.26)
So … friends, whether we are foolish or wise, housed or homeless, whether we gather on the Common or at the Square, our foundation is in the home and heart of God. It is on that rock that we build community, live with courage, and proclaim God’s justice and compassion. It is into that house and home that we invite the hungry, the thirsty, and the stranger.
God has given us so much. Let us also freely give.
Thanks be to God.
COMMISSIONING
God, who is as near to us as our own breathing, dwells not in temples made with human hands, but in those hearts that bid God welcome. So, set wide the door of your hearts! Stand aside! And let God in!BENEDICTION
The grace of God, deeper than our imagination;
The strength of Christ, stronger than our need;
And the communion of the Holy Spirit, richer than our togetherness,
Guide and sustain us today and in all our tomorrows. Amen.