June 10, 2012

Clay Nelson

Pentecost 2     1 Samuel 8:4-20     Mark 3:20-35

Video available on YouTube, Facebook

I don’t know if you recently read about what Brian Tamaki, the self-proclaimed bishop of Destiny Church, is up to now. At his annual church conference a week ago he gave a two-hour, yes, two-hour sermon on his vision for his church. As incomprehensible as it is to me that anyone would sit through a sermon of that length, it was his message that staggered me. Apparently God has told him through Paul’s Letter to the Hebrews to build a city. He told his followers that in Abraham’s time people lived in tents in the desert, but Destiny members had to leave behind their “tent mentality” and aim for something “far bigger, far greater…a City of God.” He has put the church’s Mt Wellington headquarters up for sale hoping for $5 million to begin funding the city he calls the New Jerusalem in South Auckland. He exhorted his congregation to leave behind houses, jobs and even family members, and give generously to join him, arguing that the church family is more important than their physical family. Eventually reluctant family members will see what a great thing they have built and will want to come too.

One of his critics, Mark Vrankovich, founder of Cultwatch and another self-proclaimed authority, is concerned that the bishop intends to extract money from his followers’ house sales to build his dream to be mayor or king of this city. I suspect he is right, but what apparently bothers Mr Vrankovich most is that the bishop denies the physical resurrection of Christ. By his measure the problem with this vision is that the bishop is not a Christian.

Part of me suddenly feels some empathy for the bishop on this score, but mostly I share Samuel’s pain in today’s first lesson as he laments his people’s desire for a king. Samuel concludes a long list of how a king will exploit them by saying: “He will take one-tenth of your flocks, and you shall be his slaves.” (1 Sam 8:17). It is the exploitive nature of Brian Tamaki’s vision that troubles me.

To successfully exploit his followers, Tamaki must cut them off from what he would consider the corrupting elements in the secular culture. He will do this by creating an exclusive community, closed to the impure. That is, those who don’t show loyalty to him or aren’t convinced he alone is God’s mouthpiece. He has acknowledged that some of his pastors who objected to his vision when he first started talking about it ten years ago have left and others, he has said, will have to leave if they don’t get on board.

In his demands for purity, he does sound a little like his critic Mr Vrankovich who represents that strand of Christendom that sees the church, as the expression goes, “a home for saints instead of a hospital for sinners.” It is a place where the orthodox flourish and the heretics are cast out. Where the world is divided into secular and sacred. Where Scripture, Tradition and Reason as interpreted by the appointed authorities always trump the divine light within each of us. Where conformity is more important than transformation. Where religion is about the destination instead of the journey. Where change is the enemy and certainty is the goal. Where the people exist for the church and not the church for the people. In some of these respects it could be said, Tamaki is too Christian.

As a counterpoint to this vision of Christianity we have Mark’s gospel.

We are only to chapter 3 and Jesus is already a figure of controversy, in trouble with his family, his followers and the political and religious leaders. He challenges tradition, flaunts authority and dishonours the family. Jesus and Brian sound a lot alike until we contemplate Mark’s question, “Who has true authority?” And where does it come from? Does authority come from tradition and religion, or does true authority come from God? And how do we know when it is from the divine? Mark recounts how the scribes — the authority of the day — confront Jesus — the new authority. They attempt to discredit him with the accusation he is possessed by demons. Jesus responds by pointing out that Satan wouldn’t destroy his own handiwork. Evil doesn’t cast out evil, good does.

Mark concludes the encounter with an enigmatic statement by Jesus, “But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.” (Mark 3:27).

Some think this means that Jesus has already taken care of Satan, who won’t be a problem with Jesus around. Others believe Jesus is putting the religious authorities on notice that he is ushering in a whole new church. But the possibility that makes the most sense to me, especially today with Christianity so divided, is that Jesus is offering a word of caution, not a threat. If the strong man, the divine within us, is tied up in senseless debate, endless discussion, power plays, institutional preservation and political manoeuvring, then virtually any “thief” can sneak in and plunder the house leaving us spiritually empty.

There is no question religion has fallen on hard times, especially those of the mainline flavour. Those of us born before 1965 can remember when we wore our religion as a badge of honour, but today virtually no one wants to be thought of as religious, including me, if truth be told. The new catch phrase is “Spiritual but not religious.” For many of us in this post-modern, post-Christian world, religion is equated with the worst possible behaviours associated with the church — self-righteousness, judgmental attitudes, condemnation, prejudice, and intolerance. 

I confess there are nights when I lie awake wondering why I have devoted 30 years of my life to an institution that is often its own worst enemy and seems determined to walk a road of irrelevance into oblivion. At such moments I often find grace abounds. During a recent despondency, I picked up a book by Diana Butler Bass, entitled Christianity for the Rest of Us. She wrote this while a professor of Church History at my seminary. Over three years she studied liberal, mainline churches in numerous denominations that contrary to the present trend are thriving.

Her premise is that people are still seeking meaning and purpose, and hunger for spirituality. This need is intensified by political and economic polarisation, our mobility, rapid technological change, and urbanisation, which have all contributed to a loss of a sense of community. She views us as spiritual nomads seeking connection. 

Some seek refuge in an authoritarian religion that resists change and prefer a god who is “the same yesterday, today, and forever.” They live in a certainty that they alone know the way to and the mind of God. For them Christianity is that old time religion. Bass observes that, “They build churches to protect people from change, often in anonymous, suburban, gated spiritual communities, where they recreate a vision of some cherished Christian past. They venture out into the world to try and force the rest of us back to the perfect world of their fathers” (p. 24).

But she found in her study that that there are many of us who wish to end our nomadic ways to become pilgrims in a community of other pilgrims. In the 30 churches she observed in every region of America she found that they had a number of common characteristics, all of which offered transformation. 

First, they were hospitable, inclusive, open communities that welcomed everyone. There were no requirements to being included. If you showed up you were a welcomed part of the community.

Other hallmarks included: Honouring tradition, but holding on to it lightly. They valued knowing where we have been as pilgrims in The Way and strived to retain the best of it, but it is not a map to where we are going. In fact it is not the “where” that matter so much, but the “going.”

In addition, they valued spiritual practice over beliefs. Worship, prayer, healing and contemplation were encouraged and nurtured. I found especially reassuring that they care about the liturgy and music. Beauty matters to the pilgrim’s soul.

As important as the above all are, it was a commitment to promoting God’s justice that served as the gravitational force that held these faith communities together.

My conclusion from this book is that we must resist giving up the authority of the god within us, but we cannot walk alone. Together the strong man, the divine within us, is unbound free to connect with others and that transcendent mystery we call God. On my best days I trust that together we will find our meaning and purpose in a loving, inclusive, just community bathed in beauty.

May St Matthew’s always be such a place.