In
the 13th century a religious movement arose in the towns of what is
now Belgium and Holland, known as the Beguines.
The Beguines were women who started their own intentional Christian communities
dedicated to prayer and service to the poor.
They did not take formal monastic vows of poverty, chastity, and
obedience. They were celibate as long
they remained beguines, but could leave the life at any time and get married,
if they wished. They were not part of a
centralized religious order with an overall superior, but each of their houses
was independent, with its own regulations.
And knowing what we do of church history we should not be surprised that
a number of medieval popes accused the beguines of spreading heresy, and
attempted to suppress them. And in the 16th
century the Protestant Reformers took up where the popes left off.
And
in our country today, as well as in England, and Australia, and many other
places, young Christians are carrying out innumerable experiments in new forms
of religious practice, in alternative worship, and arts festivals, in café
churches, dinner churches, and house churches and new monastic communities, in
a diverse and decentralized phenomenon that is sometimes called the “Emergent
Church.” I would be lying if I claimed
to represent this movement, but from what I’ve read and from those I’ve met who
are part of it, I’m sympathetic with many of its aims and concerns. I’m also not surprised that some Christian
leaders have denounced the Emergent Church, or elements of it, as a wolf in
sheep’s clothing, a danger to the good order and doctrinal purity of the
church.
After
all, I’m an Episcopalian, so I’m not unfamiliar this sort of treatment, and
maybe that’s why I’ve taken the liberty of referring to our congregation as an
“emergent community” on the home page of our website. This isn’t because I’m trying to cash in on a
trendy brand; it’s because I feel there is a genuine open-endedness about what
we’re trying to do here at St. John’s.
The schism that devastated this congregation almost nine years ago left
us not only with the necessity of renewal, but with an opportunity to do more
than try to recreate a church we remember from the past. It’s given us the freedom to experiment with
new forms of worship and new practices of leadership, to take risks, and make
mistakes, and learn together how to live in authentic Christian community in
the cultural context of today.
Of
course, that cultural context is quite chaotic, rapidly changing, and some
might say, dangerously ill. So on our
website homepage, where it says that we are an “emergent Christian community”
it also says that we have been Petaluma’s congregation of The Episcopal Church
since 1856. And I like having those two
seemingly contradictory ideas in the same sentence. I
think it gives a good snapshot of who we are, and where we hope we are
going. It says that we may not be bound
by tradition, but neither are we rootless; we are grounded in a place and a
history that we did not invent, but inherited from others. It says we trust in the faithfulness of God’s
promise to the church, because we’ve seen it in the continued existence of our
community. It says that when we try to
discern who Christ is for us today and what he wants us to do, we aren’t
starting from scratch; we are exercising an authority that has been handed down
to us in an unbroken line of transmission from the first disciples of Jesus.
Now
ordained clergy like me are fond of this last point, because we stand in a
particular relation to that authority. Sometimes
we act as if it were our exclusive possession.
And bishops, priests, and deacons do have a special responsibility for
maintaining the core tradition, but their role is borrowed, you might say, from
the apostolic character of the whole people of God. And all authority in the church is secondary
to the authority of Christ himself, who is still shepherding his flock in the
Holy Spirit, and teaching us in the scriptures.
Today, for instance, the Gospel of Mark reminds us that the biggest
danger to the church is not that things will get out of control. It’s not that people will make unauthorized
use of the name of Jesus, or lead others astray with unconventional teachings
or practices. The greater danger is that
the church’s leaders will abuse their authority.
Last
week we heard how Jesus had observed his disciples arguing with each other on
the road about which of them was greatest.
They were getting to be full of themselves, and to rival one another for
honor and respect—maybe even for power.
So Jesus reminded them that leadership is really about
responsibility. It’s about putting your
personal interest in the back seat to the interest of the group, and being in
service to others. It’s about being
attentive to the real needs of the people who have entrusted themselves to your
care, especially the ones who are most powerless.
In this
passage Jesus uses strong language, to say the least, to warn his disciples of
the consequences of betraying that trust—“it would be
better for you,” he says, “if a great millstone were hung around your neck and
you were thrown into the sea.”
This
is in response to John, who told Jesus about a stranger they met who was
casting out demons in his name. The
disciples wanted to shut him down, because, as John put it, “he was not following
us.” It is kind of amazing to read in
the gospels how early the characteristic problems of the church began to show
up. Because here we see already, in the
apostolic community, anxiety about who has rightful ownership of Jesus.
But
could there be a more generous and inclusive view of how that ownership is
shared than the one that Jesus gives next?—“Whoever,” he says, “is not against
us is for us.” It is incredible to hear
this and then think about all the centuries of quarrels in the church about who
is entitled to speak and act in the name of Christ, and about all the leaders
who have appointed themselves as guardians of the gate, telling the faithful what
they must do and believe to qualify for a share of heavenly reward. All this, when Jesus’ own standard is that
giving a cup of water to drink is enough.
Jesus
has an image for this kind of jealous and controlling behavior--picture a
person innocently walking along, trusting that she has found a good path to
follow. Her eyes are looking far ahead;
she is happy to be walking the path and hopeful about where it will take her. And then someone slips a block of stone or wood
in front of her feet, to make her stumble and fall.
When
I think about times in my life when I’ve tripped up someone else in my
community, it has usually been when I’ve been insecure about my own belonging,
and have tried to jockey for a better position by putting someone else in his
place. It’s been when I’ve pulled rank, and
corrected someone or talked down to him, saying, without using so many words,
that my discipleship is better than his.
Being
a priest makes me particularly susceptible to this kind of error, but from what
I’ve seen, lay people are not immune. It
is an occupational hazard of aspiring to leadership in religious community.
But
the irony is, of course, that in putting a stumbling block in front of someone
else, it is we who stumble. And here
again Jesus draws on his most colorful vocabulary, to warn his disciples that
when they become jealous of others’ free access to grace, they put their own at
risk. So whatever it is about us we
think gives us the right to take down a brother or sister in the community, that
superior quality is really a hindrance we’d be better off without. If I think I have a magnificent vision of the
future that’s way better than yours, I’d be better off tearing out my eye and
throwing it away. If I think I’m working
harder and getting more done because I’m stronger than you are, it’s time to cut
off an arm. And if I think I’m running
ahead in the race to win salvation, I’d better cut off a leg. And if you imagine that you are going to
escape the purifying fire of God’s judgment, or that someone else is going to
be left out of the quickening flame of the Holy Spirit, well I’ve got Good News
for you.
