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It’s Not the Field, It’s the Find (Should be read in light of General Assembly actions on 2008) Text: Matthew 13:44-52
Have you ever been punched in the stomach by the handle of a lawnmower? Substitute a plow for a lawnmower and you have the experience of the man that Jesus describes, who's behind his ox, plowing down the row, when suddenly the blade catches a huge rock, and everything stops, and this man is hurtled forward into the handle of his own plow. Some graphic four letter words, and then he notices that's not a rock, it's a box of some kind, so he reins in the box, kneels down and scooping with his hands pulls enough of the dirt away to be able to open the box. His eyes bulge, his jaw drops, it is filled with jewels and coins worth a fortune. Now what to do? There's a major obstacle here. He works this field but he does not own it. So he goes to the real estate office and begins to inquire. It is as formidable a psychological challenge as you can imagine; how do you act nonchalant in the real estate office, when you must have that field?
"Tell me, Jake, why all these questions? Why are you interested in that piece of property all of a sudden?" What do you suppose Jake said. Probably something devious like: "Always enjoyed the view from up there." Or even better, may be he told a carefully camouflaged truth, "It has this unusually rich soil."
And what in the world is Jesus trying to tell us? Jesus who expends great time and energy warning us against complicating our lives with affluence, nevertheless is tuned in enough to human nature that he understands that deep seated conviction in most of us, that if we should suddenly be blessed with a few million dollars it would settle a lot of anxiety. Jesus understood why a person would try to act nonchalant in the real estate office, buy a lottery ticket or dutifully paste all the numbered stamps on the entry blank of the Publishers Clearing house, and invest 41 cents in the impossible dream of riches.
The parable tells us that the kingdom of God is such a treasure, and you should go for it with the same guile, the same gusto, the same single-mindedness, because there is nothing you could ever possess that offers more.
But as someone who has just finished reading a summary of the actions of our denominations General Assembly, the metaphor does not quite fit.
The Presbyterian Church does not feel like an extravagant value, unimaginable treasure. None of the mainline churches do. In our particular denomination, all the numbers seem to be descending, and the only thing that's increasing is the anxiety level. We are not that burgeoning, blossoming movement that Jesus depicts, we are the folks who are projected to disappear, if present trends continue, around the year 2027 (which, of course, they won’t).
The mood of the church has been infected with the dramatic loss of members and dollars. Since 1965 all the so-called mainline churches, the Lutherans, Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Methodists, Congregationalists, have lost between 20 and 40% of their members. And the trends in these churches seem to be virtually identical, so you can't blame it on what Bishop Robinson said to the Episcopalians or what our General Assembly decided. According to the research most of the people who left during the last 40 years did not leave in a huff over the social witness of the church, its pronouncements regarding the Arab/Israeli conflict or even over the issue of sexual orientation and very few of them have moved to more conservative churches. The large majority simply drifted away, phased themselves out of the community, slipped quietly away to that private place where the church is no longer a necessary component of their lives. Perhaps some of you have grown children among this number. They get along without it, a whole generation of people for whom the faith has not taken hold.
Churches are no longer perceived as the social center of the communities that we serve. We are no longer the primary catalyst for education, medical care, providing for the hungry and the homeless, that we once were. Others would say that our liturgy is out of date, our music is archaic, that we no longer mediate an experience of the presence of God. The classic line is: I’m not religious, but I am spiritual.
It is not easy to be confronted with all of this, because much of the diagnosis is accurate, and, of course, the church must continue to reform, and to reconstitute itself. It must become a more pertinent, current and helpful gathering of people. But on the other hand it is surely unhealthy to live with a sense of failure or with some burden of guilt for the inadequacies of the mainline churches.
But if the main-line church is a dying church, a loser institution, what are you and I still doing here? Have we been duped? And, if not, what else might be going on? How might we understand these signs and trends?
Some church sociologists indicate not the failure of our program and message so much as they do the adjustment of the church to the monumental shifts and changes that are taking place in the world. They depict us at the end of an era; not just decline in the mainline churches but the conclusion of the church that was generated by the Protestant Reformation. One that I find particularly insightful, Loren Mead, finds us in the concluding days of Christendom, a form of the church that has persisted for 1700 years. We are returning to a context more reflective of the apostolic church, a minority community in a sometimes supportive, sometimes hostile but mostly indifferent world.
The church has been at these crossroads before. Endings are never easy and are always accompanied by grief and pain. But let tell you something that I learned in the Church History courses many moons ago. In the Christian church endings have always been at the same time, beginnings. The pain of the demise of one form of the church has been at the same time the birth pains of the new spirit filled community. And I, but more especially you, are not so much the last of a dying breed so much as we are the privileged children of God, who are called to be a part of the transition of the church from what we have been to the new church of God's making and doing.
So though, as a denomination, we may be confronted with a loss of members and dollars, there is no excuse for a loss of vitality. There is still the presence of God, the good news of Jesus, the moving of the Spirit, the music of the ages.
You may have heard people say, "It's too bad, we can't have Christmas all year long," but if there is a season we need to stretch right now, my nomination would be Advent. Advent encourages the appropriate response for a people in transition. Advent calls us to hang in there in hope, and to live in expectation of God's new day, to keep a very light grip on what has been and cultivate openness and flexibility in anticipation of God's amazing and surprising future. Never forget, Jesus said, “We have this treasure in earthen vessels” for Jesus knows that all human institutions are fallible – it’s not the field, it’s what you find there. I love the words of T.S. Elliot in his poem from the Four Quartets where he summons us to “Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought; So the darkness shall be light, and the stillness the dancing."
And in the meantime let us continue to do those things which have always been a part of the church and always will be. Let us proclaim the good news, tell the story to our children, let us embody God's love for all of our near neighbors, especially the poor, the emotionally scarred, the homeless, the oppressed, the outcasts, the innocent victims. Whatever the form of the church in the future it will be composed of people in ministry, people living out of their gratitude for God's gifts. Finally let us take sensitive and generous care of each other.
There was a time of declining numbers and dollars in the career of Jesus, and He asked His disciples, "are you going to leave too?" And the reply was, "where shall we go, Lord, you have the word of life."
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