Sermons

“Mr. Big Stuff”

Mark 6:1-6a; 2 Corinthians 12:1-10 – Rev. Rebecca Littlejohn

Vista La Mesa Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), La Mesa, California – July 8, 2018

Holy God, bless the speaking and the hearing of these words that we might open our hearts to your leading and share your good news boldly with all who will listen. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

I wonder – and don’t say anything yet, just raise your hand – I wonder how many of you, if I say the title of this sermon, “Mr. Big Stuff,” know what comes next? Raise your hand up high if you know the next line. Alright then, let’s all say it together in rhythm when I give you the cue: Mr. Big Stuff! Who do you think you are? That’s right! This sermon has nothing to do with Jean Knight, of course, in case anyone remembers who sang that song. It’s just that it’s what comes into my head when I read that passage we just heard from Mark. It’s the chorus the synagogue regulars in Nazareth are singing when this story is told in my head. Perhaps you hear them saying “Somebody’s gotten too big for his britches” or “He thinks he’s all that.” We humans have a thousand ways of cutting people down to size.

You know, we talk a lot about how one of the most important things about Jesus is that because he was human, he knows what it’s like to experience human pain and suffering, and thus can understand our pain in ways a more distant God could not. And usually we’re referring to the events of Holy Week – Judas’ betrayal, Peter’s denial, and all of the actual, physical pain of the crucifixion – when we’re talking about that. But what about the more mundane hurts? What about the special aggravation that we experience when the people who watched us grow up, who knew us as children, won’t take us seriously in our adult ventures? It’s a very particular frustration. The summer after my first year of seminary, I went back and did a full-time three-month internship at the church I grew up in. And mostly it went very well. But there was this one woman who’d literally known me since I was born; she was a nurse in the OB wing where I arrived. The first chance she had leading worship that summer, she made a point of working into whatever she was supposed to be saying her memory of my roller-skating down the aisles of the church one time. To be honest, I don’t even remember doing that, but that’s not the point. The point, or so it felt to me, was that I was a child, a mere babe, and look at me here, trying to lead a congregation. How adorable! That is to say, I did not appreciate her remarks.

I have a feeling many of you have had a similar experience at some point in your life. And that’s just it. This is a human experience. We do this thing to each other, where we don’t like to let people grow into someone new. And even Jesus knows how it feels when people do this to you. It makes you feel frustrated and powerless and less capable of doing the things you know you can do. Jesus arrives back at his hometown, full of the powerful, healing, redeeming love of God, and what does he get? “Mr. Big Stuff! Who do you think you are?” Sometimes it’s those who seem closest to us that are hardest to connect with when it comes to what matters. I want to talk about this phenomenon in a very specific context today, because we’re in a season when we need to get specific.

We are embarking on a journey toward a new way of being church, a way of being that is intentional and strategic and prayerful about growth in ministry and members. And that means we’re going to have to take evangelism seriously. Now, one of the biggest barriers to evangelism is that many of us don’t meet that many new people very often. So one might think that the logical place to turn is to the people we see most often: our family and close friends. But we don’t think that, do we? And I wonder if this “hometown” phenomenon is part of the reason why.

In her groundbreaking book on evangelism in mainline Protestantism, Martha Grace Reese outlines nine “bandwidths” of potential targets of evangelism.[1] She lists them in order from easiest to hardest to connect with and help guide into a relationship with Christ. The hardest category is people who have never been part of a church who are also demographically different from you. The easiest category is our own children. But what’s important to note here is that when she calls our children the easiest category, she’s talking about children who are children. I never noticed, till I went back and reviewed this section of the book with this particular question in mind, that Reese doesn’t actually have a specific category for family members who aren’t children. I can’t help but wonder where adult children, or siblings, or parents, or spouses would fall in her level of difficulty assessment, when it comes to inviting someone to explore a relationship with Christ. This sounds to me like “Jesus in Nazareth” level of difficulty!

Later in the same chapter, when Reese writes about barriers to evangelism, she gets at why this is so hard. The second most common barrier to sharing our faith, she says, is the fear of risking a relationship and not wanting to pressure someone. And that’s exactly it, isn’t it? Most of the relationships in our lives have found their equilibrium. We know that so-and-so will always do those certain annoying things, and they know we will always do our annoying things, and we’ve decided we can live with that. We had those difficult conversations years ago and came to a compromise we can both live with. Cousin Whatshisname isn’t a religious person and everyone in the family knows it, so there’s no point in inviting him. (Because as we’ve already discussed, nobody ever changes, right?) Our spouse puts up with the amount of time we spend at church precisely because we don’t try to drag them into it with us. These things are settled, and to upset the balance is just asking for trouble.

I get it. Believe me. Not only is my spouse not here today, I even find it awkward when you all do bring your family members to church with you. We have a normal protocol we follow for “regular” visitors – you know, the kind who randomly wander in unconnected to anyone who’s already here. We have them fill out information cards, and we send a letter and a postcard, and we make sure people greet them and invite them to coffee. But when your grown-up niece who’s just moved back to town comes to worship with you, I get a little flustered. Did she come because she’s interested in finding a church home? Or is she here to make her aunt and uncle happy? Should we ask for her contact info? Is the regular letter too formal for someone who came here occasionally as a child? If you’d told me a lot about her, will she be embarrassed to find out that I know all that? Should I pretend I don’t?

The problem is that all those anxieties we have about evangelism already are multiplied by a thousand million when it comes to the people we’re related to, because the stakes of those relationships are higher than any of the others in our lives. We’re risking so much more. In our relationship with that person, and also, possibly, in our relationship with our church. Family members are far more likely to tell us the truth about all our church’s failings than the random guy from the office who came that one time.

All of these things are true, and yet, there are still some of us in this room who have family members whose lives would be better if they could find a way to becoming part of this church. Jesus had this problem, and yet even in the midst of the scorn he received in Nazareth, “many were astounded” and “a few sick people were cured.” Reaching out to unchurched family members is perhaps the hardest and best test of whether we’re ready to share our faith in ways that lead to growth. Because even though risking a relationship is a major barrier to evangelism, there is another barrier that is bigger than that. And that is not knowing why we should share our faith.

Jesus took the risk of being fully himself in Nazareth, because he could bring healing and peace and hope to those with ears to hear. But what’s your excuse? What would it take for you to be pro-active in talking about why your relationship with Christ is the guiding reality of your life? For a few of us—and to some degree all of us – it will take re-shaping our lives so that Christ actually is the guiding reality of our lives. For others of us, it will take practice in noticing how that works and finding the words to describe it authentically. Martha Grace Reese would argue that if we’ve deepened our faith enough, it will be such a positive force in our lives that we won’t have any trouble wanting to tell someone else about it, especially if there’s something making their life harder than usual. It’s no surprise that the few people who could receive the blessings of Jesus’ visit to Nazareth were the ones who were sick. Similarly, it’s not surprising that the couple of stories I can think of where a long-absent-from-church family member suddenly started coming regularly involve cancer diagnoses. But not everyone who’s been resisting church needs a crisis of that magnitude to shift their perspective. Especially if the stories we have to tell aren’t just about the times Jesus rescued us from certain danger, but also about the hundred different ways our participation in the body of Christ brings meaning and purpose and joy into our lives on a regular basis.

Finding the right balance and tone for these stories is key. In the passage we read from 2^nd Corinthians, Paul talks about how it’s much easier to boast about someone else’s story than his own. That feels familiar, doesn’t it? And that’s one strategy. Maybe your family member needs to hear about what happened to someone else at church, not what happened to you. But the other important lesson Paul shares in that passage is that our stories, if they are to lead anyone to Christ, can’t be about us. They have to be about what God has done in our lives. Many of the people out there who aren’t already in church have an idea that those of us who are here think we’re all that, that we’re special and God loves us the most because we’ve got it all figured out. They might even be calling us “Mr. Big Stuff” behind our backs. The story they need to hear is not about the thing we accomplished at church that made everyone compliment and thank us. What they need to hear about is that time we made the huge mistake and everyone else was really nice about it and supported us anyway. They need to hear about what it’s like to feel forgiven, not just by God, but by a collection of people who aren’t even technically related to you. God’s power is made perfect in weakness, not in strength. Those are the stories we need to tell, and they’re stories that might actually catch the attention of those people who are so close to us they think they have us all figured out. Because those are the stories about our growth, which is always going to catch our families by surprise.

I’m not saying we’re going to grow this church by having everyone who’s got local family get them all in here. I’m saying that if we can cultivate our capacity to share our faith authentically and organically enough that it might work on a family member, we’ll be able to share it with anyone. And that’s what it’s going to take. Do you see why I’ve told you this is going to be a 3-year+ journey? It’s not a program or a project; it’s a new way of being. And just like any family, it’s going to take some getting used to as each of us grows and develops new capacities. We will need to be careful not to nip each other’s growth in the bud. We can’t afford to call anyone “Mr. Big Stuff.” You may think you know those people sitting near you, just like you think you know why your family member will never join us here. But God is going to surprise us, one way or another.

I’ve come to the end of what I need to say today, and I’m realizing I don’t have a conclusion. Because this isn’t a story that’s come to an end; it’s a story that’s just beginning. We have so many opportunities in front of us to deepen our faith and learn how to share it more authentically and effectively. I hope you are ready to join us on that journey. I pray that all of us can open our hearts to what God is doing in and among and through us here at VLM. Alleluia and Amen.

[1] Martha Grace Reese, “Unbinding the Gospel: Real Life Evangelism”, Chalice Press, 2006, pp. 88-91.