On Greater and Lesser Falls From Grace 5/19/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Luke 17:1-4

He’s dead now. Gone for a while. Long enough (in time) so I can tell his story. Removed enough (from any of you) so I can keep his secret. He was a married man….a family man….a devoutly spiritual man….a committed church man….a tender and truthful man….a tithing and talented man….but, in the later years of his life, a troubled and tormented man.

He was a pedophile. If “abuse” is the appropriate word to use in such circumstances, he abused once. Maybe only once. He was elderly and lonely at the time. The boy was vulnerable and trusting at the time. It happened. It was discovered. He was charged. The case was settled. How, I’d just as soon not say. Legally, he had his comeuppance. Financially, there was recompense. For years following, there was judicial vigilance. But there was no time served. Although his time on earth was probably shortened by what he put himself through, once the courts were done. 

He used to talk to me about it. He acknowledged that the attraction was in the nature of an addiction. But he maintained he had never previously yielded to temptation. It was the yielding that grieved him, not the attraction. He knew it was wrong. He knew he was wrong. I heard his confession. I heard his repentance. The one thing I never heard from his lips was an excuse or an explanation. I’m not sure he ever knew why.

The concern that brought him to see me, time after time, was that he was unforgivable. And the text to which he referred, time after time, was this one about causing little ones to stumble…. especially the line that began: “It would be better for such a man if a millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea.” He was certain that was him. He was equally certain that such a fate awaited him. There was no question in his mind that he had stretched the elastic of divine mercy beyond the breaking point, to the degree that it would not be his….mercy, I mean.

I suppose his visits to my office were one way of hoping against hope. Or perhaps he came because I thought better of him than he thought of himself. Although it took me a while to get there. In the beginning, it was hard.

In my ministry, there is nothing I haven’t seen and nothing I haven’t heard. I guess when you’ve done a funeral for several plastic bags of body parts pulled from a dumpster, there’s not much you’ve missed. But I would have gladly missed the pedophilic confessions of this man who called me “friend.” For while nothing surprises me anymore, there are still a few things that bother me….as in “seriously” bother me.

We have been reading about the scandal of priestly pedophilia in the Roman Catholic church. Every day brings a new revelation. We are astounded by the numbers….the dollars….the cover-ups….the broad brushstrokes of guilt by association….and the repeated blows to the solar plexus of public trust. Like many of you, I am saddened. I am sickened. I am shamed.

But I am a preacher, not a reporter. And this is a sermon, not a news story. So I’ll not detail it, day by day….year by year….diocese by diocese….state by state. Clearly, it’s bigger than we thought and will get bigger still. There will be criminal actions taken and lawsuits filed. As to whether it will dismantle priestly celibacy, I doubt it. As to whether it will break the church, I also doubt it. But it will dent it badly (both in terms of dollars and in terms of members). And I can’t help but think of the ministry that won’t get done (and the people who won’t get served) because of all the time and money that this will require. If one inner-city Roman Catholic grade school is forced to close, or if one soup kitchen or warming shelter is shut down as a result of funds diverted to court actions and lawsuits, the price will have already been too high.

Just as I am not a reporter, I am also not a psychiatrist. Frankly, I do not know why someone becomes a pedophile or why the priesthood attracts them. My guess is that today’s villains were yesterday’s victims (meaning that they, themselves, may have been abused). And the church, in its kindness, has always opened its doors, its heart and its clerical ranks to victims. Garret Keizer, in a wonderful article in the Christian Century, writes:

It will not come as news to anyone who has attended church for more than five Sundays in a row that the polite culture and non-judgmental ethos of Christian community often exerts a powerful attraction for disturbed individuals of every kind, from the passively aggressive to the aggressively predatory. Such individuals tend to go for power vacuums with all the primal instincts of a shark.

What Keizer is saying is that the very things that make churches comfortable places to be…. namely the kindly and polite demeanor of the members….tend to create a haven for troubled individuals, both lay and clergy….who need a place to park their baggage, along with permission to unpack their pain. And as for the cover-ups, they are probably as understandable as they are unconscionable…. rooted as they are in the instinct for institutional survival.

Just as I am not a reporter or a psychiatrist, neither am I a denominational official. If I were Cardinal Law of Boston, I would resign. Not as a result of weighing the likelihood of being toppled by forces outside the church, but as a simple Christ-like gesture of sacrifice within the church. Somebody needs to take the anguish of the institution unto himself and tip the tide of the scandal from incrimination to healing.

Among Methodist clergy, I have never in 37 years encountered a pedophile. But that does not mean that celibacy and fidelity define us all. We are not without colleagues who have stepped across a line….going where they should not go….doing what they should not do….sexually speaking. As concerns the reactions of my superiors to such clergy, I have seen the days of the “soft line” (as in “send ‘em for counseling, then ship ‘em to another church”). And I have seen the days of the “hard line” (as in “suspend ‘em, remove ‘em, and make it so hard to restore ‘em so that you never again have to deal with ‘em”). For the last 15 or 20 years, we have taken the “hard line,” sometimes turning the church into an institution that shoots its wounded and then leaves them there to die. But it has kept us free from lawsuits.

Are there preachers who stepped over the line 20 years ago and are still preaching? Sure there are. And are there preachers who have been mustered out in the last decade who could do wonderful and trustworthy work now if given a second chance? Sure there are. But given the present tribulations of our Roman Catholic brethren, I can see the value of erring on the side of vigilance (institutionally speaking). And it gives me one more reason to praise God that I was never bitten by the bug to be a bishop.

What I have finally conceded is that every sexual sin involving clergy is an abuse of power. Which is strange, given that most clergy don’t think they have any power. But it appears that we possess more than we know….that people will say “yes” to us, because how could anything “dirty” come from one so “holy”? Or, as one woman said after an affair with her pastor: “Somehow, it seemed like I was going to bed with God.”

Which seems utterly ridiculous to me. But it does prove that a strange mystique and mythology is still out there. When I think of Paciorek brothers submitting to that same little priest for so many years….never telling their father….never telling their mother….never telling each other….hating every minute….fearing every encounter….despising the priest….but never resisting the priest…. I can’t get over the incongruity of it all. I mean, the Paciorek boys were big, strapping athletes….All-State football players. Any one of them could have pinned that priest to the wall until he whimpered for mercy. But none of them did. Because of who he was. And because of the powerful aura he carried.

All of which leads me to say something I never though I’d say from a pulpit. If you are ever encouraged or enticed to become romantically or sexually involved in a way that sends funny signals to your value system or doesn’t quite square with your understanding of the Gospel, do not disconnect the radar that is sounding in your soul, just because the romantic or sexual overture is being made by someone wearing a collar, carrying a Bible, or answering to some variation of the title “Reverend.”

Now, back to our text. For while I am not a reporter, a shrink or a briefcase bureaucrat for institutional Christianity, I am a fair-to-middling student of the scriptures. So hear the word again:

Then Jesus said to his disciples: “It is impossible that scandals not occur. But woe be to the one through whom they occur. It will be better for such a one to be thrown into the sea with a millstone around his neck than that he should cause one of these little ones to stumble. So be on your guard.” (Anchor Bible translation of Luke 17:1-3a)

All right, let’s break it down.

First, Jesus seems to accept the inevitability of scandal (a realistic posture, methinks), but differentiates between those who cause it and those who are caught up in it.

Second, the “little ones” may or may not be children. Some have suggested that the phrase should be translated “innocent ones.” Most likely, the “little ones” are those who are relatively new to faith.

Third, a millstone (“mulos onikos” in the Greek) was a grinding stone of sufficient size so as to require a donkey in harness to pull it.

Fourth, the “sea” was especially feared in Jewish culture….not because it was wet….not because it was cold….not because it was deep….but because it was deemed to be godless. Heaven was a place where there would be no more sea (Rev. 1:1). Which explains why drowning was a Roman punishment, but never a Jewish one.

Taken as a whole, this text suggests that what we are reading in our daily papers is serious business. Also sinful business. In recent years, it has become commonplace to lump all sin together….suggesting not only that all of us do it, but that all of“it” is equally grievous to God. We remember the days when our Catholic playmates differentiated mortal sins from venial sins (even though we didn’t understand the distinction and secretly suspected that they didn’t, either). But we listened as they told us which sins required how many “Our Fathers” and how many “Hail Marys,” further suggesting a quantitative hierarchy of depravity. So in something of a theological revolt, we Protestants said: “Stop quantifying and start repenting. Sin is sin. And God hates it all.”

But one keeps running up against texts in the New Testament that suggest, where sin is concerned, maybe God hates some of it more than the rest of it. Which is why I was fascinated to read a recent editorial by Greg Jones entitled “Tough Love for Sexual Abusers.” As most of you know, Greg Jones has preached from this pulpit and currently serves as the Dean of Duke Divinity School (where he guides and monitors the progress of Wil Cantrell). Greg writes (in point five of a six-point essay):

We need to be able to claim that we are all sinners without claiming that all sins are equivalent. Betrayals of trust, especially in the presence of power differentials and by people in whom sacred authority has been vested, are especially grievous sins that call for clear accountability and expectations of true repentance.

Ah, Greg, well said. But will such repentance….however “true”….be sufficient to turn the heart of God, given earlier words about “millstones,” “drownings” and “seas?” Clearly, Jesus is venting anger. But is Jesus also voicing policy?

This is not for me to say. I know which way I lean. Most of you know which way I lean. But how best to say it now? Let me try this.

Go back to my friend (with whose story I began). He readily identified himself as a sinner. But I meet lots of sinners (starting with the one in the mirror). Most of them explain their sin….excuse their sin….rationalize their sin….find somebody on whom to blame their sin….and readily compare their sin with the sin of others, in such a way as to emerge smelling more like a rose than rose fertilizer (as in “you think I’m bad, you should see….”).

But this fellow did none of the above. No rationalizations. No comparisons. In fact, I never met anybody who felt more remorse or expressed more repentance. Which slowly won over my hardened heart. I had compassion on him then. In death, I have compassion on him now.

I suppose it’s possible that God will take the hard line….with drowning as the consequence for fondling. That’s what the text seems to say. But (speaking only for me) I find it hard to live with the notion that I am more compassionate than God.

Note: The comments of Duke Divinity School’s Dean, L. Gregory Jones, can be read in Christian Century under the title “Tough Love for Sexual Abusers” (April 24-May 1, 2002). The same can be said for Garret Keizer’s comments under the heading “Career Ministry.” The translation of Luke 17:1-4 is by Joseph Fitzmyer in the Anchor Bible Series. Final thoughts about being “more compassionate than God” were stimulated by Kathleen Norris in her prize-winning Amazing Grace.

On Bringing People to Justice 9/22/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Amos 5:18-24

Anybody who has ever had two or more children consuming food at one and the same time, knows that such moments constitute a recipe for family disaster. Picture a pie….banana cream….blueberry….pecan….even pizza. Picture two kids. Picture one knife. Who will cut….that is the question. Let us assume that the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court is busy elsewhere. Ditto for the head of the National Bureau of Measures and Standards. And your phone call to the nearest bishop yields nothing but a busy signal.

So with all the parental objectivity you can muster, you take the knife. You make the cuts. You serve the pieces. And then you wait for the wails you know will follow. They are wails about “the bigger piece”….who got it….who didn’t get it. Even though a mathematician with a micrometer can’t discern the difference, your kids can. Or think they can.

So you learn a little technique, the better to avoid such confrontations in the future. You refuse to make the cut. Assuming two kids at the table, you assign one to be the slicer. But before they fight for control of the knife, you say: “Yes, one of you gets to cut the pie. But, once cut, the other of you gets to choose the first piece.”

Children are big on fairness. We’ve talked of this before. Not only can they spot unfairness a mile away, but they can smell it even when their noses are stuffed. “No fair….no fair,” they cry. And they expect the adults in their lives to rush in and rectify the inequity. The fact that those same adults will, one day, have to teach them that life isn’t fair is lost at that moment. Because, to whatever degree fairness can be ordained and orchestrated, it is the adults who are charged with making it so.

Which is an easy trap to get sucked into. I remember when our kids were young, and Kris and I were young. Christmas would come and we would try to make sure each kid got the same. Not the same stuff, mind you. But the same dollar-value worth of stuff. I even remember going out at the last minute to buy something extra for one or the other of the kids. My goal was to make the total balance out. And then there were those years when one kid’s major present was abnormally expensive, meaning that the kid who got that big present got fewer presents in total than did the kid whose presents were cheaper, albeit more numerous. As a parent, I’d sit there trying to figure out whether they had figured it out….and whether I needed to find some subtle way to explain the inequity that they may or may not be perceiving.

If that sounds stupid (and I know it does), we’ve all been there. And our motives as parents were, and perhaps still are, no different from God’s parental motives in desiring to give good and equitable gifts to all God’s children.

Today’s sermon title contains the word “justice.” Which is a biblical word, every bit as much as a contemporary word. But in researching its biblical origins, I was surprised to find how many times (in its usage) it has to do with the needs of those who have less, measured against the obligations of those who have more. Time and again, biblical justice is mentioned in conjunction with God’s concern for the poor, the weak, the widows, the orphans, the enslaved, the resident aliens within one’s gates, and the physically infirm. I didn’t make this up. I am only telling you how it reads. In the main, justice is more concerned with distribution than with retribution….at least in the Bible.

I’ll come back to that in a minute, after we stretch our legs at this little rest stop called “Amos.” I am not talking about “Famous Amos”….he who makes cookies in California. I am talking about anonymous Amos….he who preached to the northern kingdom of Israel in the 8th century BC.

As seminarians in the ‘60s, we loved this little speech that rolled off my tongue mere moments ago….the speech about God’s non-delight in the religious feasts, sacred offerings and solemn assemblies of Israel’s worship. Instead, cried Amos: “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an everflowing stream.”

There we sat in our dorm rooms and study carrels at Yale Divinity School, salivating at the thought of laying a little Amos on our first church, the first time the congregation got itself lathered up about whether communion should be taken in the pews or at the rail, or whether the Gloria Patri should be sung to the new tune, the old tune, or dropped from the service altogether. Then we would rise up in prophetic indignation and, in the deepest voices we could muster (being mostly men, then), we would lay a little Amos on them. Well, as I recall (some 38 years later), some did and soon left….some did and soon learned….and some chickened out and crucified their internal Amos, allowing no possibility of resurrection.

Truth be told, Amos never said: “Don’t worship.” What Amos said was: “If what you do is pure and lovely in here, yet stinks to high heaven out there, it ain’t worship….it ain’t right….and it ain’t of God. So get with the program, which is about charity and community every bit as much as it is about liturgy.” Ah, it feels good to say that even now, 2800 long years after Amos. And 38 relatively short years (where did they go, good Lord?) after Yale.

But while it is true that justice, in the Bible, is very much about distribution, there are texts which speak of justice as retribution….making things right as well as making things available. The Bible seems to say: “If there are any principles….any laws….any truths….any behaviors that matter to God (and the Bible is clear that there are), then God ought to do something to ensure that they prevail, and God’s people ought to do something to ensure that they prevail.”

When the psalmist cries, “Show forth thy righteousness, O God,” he is saying: “Do something, O God, to ensure that the right things don’t get trampled, and that people who do the right things don’t lose.” For in those passages (wherever they occur), justice and righteousness are parallel notions, almost to the point of interchangeability.

The Bible assumes God cares how things come out. The Bible also assumes God’s people should, too. So when Christians say, “All I want is justice,” one hopes that what they are asking is that God’s will be done in this situation. Hopefully, they are saying: “All I want is that God’s truth be revealed….God’s values be affirmed….God’s laws be obeyed….and God’s Kingdom (to whatever degree it is realizable here) be established.” For the Christian, justice is not just about getting the laws of the land to work, but getting the laws of the Lord to work. Which is why we ought to be careful what we pray for, lest we get it.

But I am not sure we understand that. Too often, when we cry out for justice, our concern is not that we will obtain it, but that somebody else will be brought to it. Which is okay, as far as it goes. Wrong should not go unpunished. Evil should not go unchecked. Falsehoods should not go unchallenged. Criminals should not go uncaught. And those who are predatory and injurious should not go unrestrained. Otherwise, God is mocked. Even us do-gooder, bleeding-heart preachers can see that. We’re not naïve. Justice means that some things must be opposed….and some people must be opposed. It would be nice if it didn’t have to be that way. But there are times when it does. Realism suggests it. But it is the power of sin (known better by preachers than anybody else) which requires it.

But it is precisely at this point that we Christians need to be careful, lest we forget who we are in the process of opposing what we feel called to oppose. God sent Jonah to preach doom and destruction to Ninevah for her sin. But, as concerned her sin, Ninevah repented of it. So, as concerned Ninevah’s destruction, God backed off from it. And Jonah was ticked. Why? I’ll tell you why. Because Jonah had gotten his chips and salsa and climbed the nearest hill with his binoculars to watch those people fry. What he forgot is that while the penultimate goal of divine justice is to bring evil down, the ultimate goal of divine justice is to turn evil-doers around. Which implies a certain restraint in everything we Christians do….and an even greater restraint in everything we Christians pray for.

As I told you last week, I have spent a fair amount of time this past year reading what my brother and sister preachers have said about September 11. I have read sermons preached one week after and one year after. There are now five such collections. What interests me is how good they are. Give us something significant to grind our teeth on and we boring blokes can be quite eloquent.

Tony Campolo was one whose words I read. Many of you remember the night Tony was here. What an energetic preacher. And while God’s impassioned Italian has never been boring, he outdid himself in a sermon entitled: “The Best of Times, The Worst of Times.” Let me serve you a slice:

I worry about vengeance, given that vengeance can be a very destructive mindset. And may I point out that I differ with Senator McCain when he says: “God may give them mercy, but they’ll get none from us.” Of all the senators I’ve heard speak, I thought Senator Mikulski from Maryland said the best thing. In that great prayer meeting they held under the Capital dome, she said: “I pray, dear God, that you will bring those who perpetrated this evil”….and there I sat, waiting for her to say “to justice.” But instead, she said “to repentance.” For that’s our hope, that the repetitive cycle of violence will be grounded and that, with repentance, lives will be changed and a new day will dawn.

Responding to those lines when he first spoke them, someone asked Campolo where in the world he got such a radical idea. To which Tony said: “From Jesus.” Leading his critic to fire back: “Well, this is no time to be going around quoting Jesus.”

* * * * *

On September 11 of this year, Mitch Albom did not write on the Sports Page, but on the front page. And he did not write about an athlete, but about a terrorist. He wrote about Osama Bin Laden, who he called a loser (quite correctly, I thought).

It was a powerful piece….a passionate piece….a patriotic piece. In my old age, having finally given myself permission to let my patriotism show, I enjoyed Mitch’s piece, especially when we portray patriotism as pride in the values that have made this country great, rather than waving our fingers like stupid football players in the faces of the world, screaming: “We’re number one, we’re number one.”

Mitch’s piece was patriotic in the best sense, when to Bin Laden he said:

If you sought to destroy our spirit, you failed.

If you sought to destroy our will, you failed.

If you planned on demoralizing us, you failed.

If you planned on dividing us, you failed.

If you planned on destabilizing us, we’re still here. Our streets….our schools…. our government….our freedom….still here. You, on the other hand, lost your sandlot….your real estate….your roof and your umbrella….your shelter from the storm….(in short) your home.

If you dreamed of victory, you failed….domination, you failed….Muslims on one side, Westerners on the other, you failed.

But then Mitch crossed a line (moving onto my turf) when, in speaking to Bin Laden, he segued from “No God condones you” to “No God loves you.” Which harkened back to the lines with which Mitch’s piece began:

If you are dead, you failed….because you are not in some blessed place, sitting under a yum yum tree. You are in a corner of hell reserved for murderers.

Now I will confess to you that when I read that line eleven days ago….and in reading it just now….there is a part of me that is quite comfortable transforming my fist and my forearm into a giant exclamation mark and saying: “Yes.” That’s the part of me sitting with my chips, my salsa and my binoculars, waiting to watch my enemies fry.

But I do not like that part of me….in part, because Jesus tells me I should not like that part of me (even though some of you will momentarily tell me that “this is no time to be going around quoting Jesus”).

So Mitch….I love you, buddy….keep on writing. But I hope that Senator Mikulski is closer to the truth than Senator McCain. And when we get those sons of _______ who perpetrated this evil, I pray that God will grab ‘em by whatever still moves ‘em, and bring ‘em….to repentance.

And me, too, while He’s at it.

Note:  I spent a fair amount of time researching the word “justice” in biblical dictionaries and commentaries. Surprisingly, there is little clarity or singularity about its meaning. Often linked with “righteousness,” it is slanted toward a concept of distribution, bringing the resources of those who have much to bear upon the needs of those who have little. But there is a minority report, as it were, that links “justice” with words like “vindication” and “retribution”….suggesting that when true justice exists, God’s concept of “right” will be established and other concepts of “wrong” will be dethroned. Hopefully, the sermon reflects both of those concepts.

The distinction Tony Campolo makes between justice and repentance can be found in the collection of sermons referenced last week, entitled The Sunday After Tuesday: College Pulpits Respond to 9/11 (Willimon and Hauerwas).

Mitch Albom’s essay appeared on the front page of the Detroit Free Press, Wednesday, September 11, 2002. Those who live in other parts of the country will know Mitch as the author of the acclaimed bestseller, Tuesdays With Morrie.

It's Three O'Clock In the Morning 10/24/1993

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Matthew 14:22-33

It's 3:00 in the morning,

We've danced the whole night through.

It's 3:00 in the morning,

Just being here with you.

Some of you will recognize the lyric.... and the sermon title.... as coming from a song of another era. I can't remember all the words. And I can't quite finish the tune. But the image sticks. 3:00 in the morning...  late time.... good time.... dancin' time.... romancin' time.... arm in arm time.... cheek to cheek time.... stars in the eyes time.... I could have danced all night time. I've been there. So have you. How sweet it was. And is. And could yet be again.

But when most people think about 3:00 in the morning, they are not thinking about the best of times, but the worst of times. 3:00 in the morning is an hour often associated with insomniacs, worry warts and social deviants. If you can't sleep, 3:00 in the morning is the worst of all times to be tossing and turning. If someone isn't home by 3:00 in the morning, it becomes floor- pacing time. If the telephone rings at 3:00 in the morning, it's palm-sweating time. If people are out in the street, running around at 3:00 in the morning, it's safe to assume that (for some of them) it's up-to-no-good-time. And 3:00 in the morning is no time to be awakened by that quartet of disturbing sounds which include rumbling stomachs, dripping faucets, crying babies, and four-legged furry things crawling in the walls. In short, 3:00 in the morning is a terrible time to be sleepless.... a terrible time to be sick.... a terrible time to be lost.... and a terrible time to be in danger.

In our text of the morning, it is 3:00 in the morning.... on the sea.... in a boat.... in a storm.... with things not altogether comfortable for the friends of Jesus who find themselves there. We know the hour, given that the text indicates it is the fourth watch of the night. The night is defined as beginning at 6:00 p.m. and concluding at 6:00 am. Romans divided the night into four watches of three hours each. Therefore, reckoning by Roman time, it is now the beginning of the fourth watch, or 3:00 a.m.

The sea is actually a large lake. Galilee is its name. Eight miles is its width. Fourteen miles is its length. It is configured not unlike Crystal Lake near Frankfort. But it is a lot rougher, given the manner in which wind currents from the Jordanian plain occasionally, and quite dramatically, buffet  its surface. If you want to paint a picture of rolling waves and contrary waves, defying even the best efforts of arm-weary oarsmen to hold a boat on course, paint away. Throw in some rain, if you like. A little sleet, if you like. No stars, if you like. Men retching over the side, if you like. Feel free. Matthew won't object. But don't put down your brush without finding some way to paint fear in the eyes (so obvious that you can see it), or fear in the throat (so obvious that you can taste it). Then you will have a picture that is worthy of the story and the scene.

Then ask yourself: "Why are these men in this predicament?" For if you read the story, you will recall that they are out in the storm because that's precisely where Jesus sent them. Verse 22 (with which the story begins) reads: "Then Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and precede him to the other side, while he, after dismissing the crowds, went up into the mountains to pray."

Don't let that slip by. Jesus sent them out there. "Made them go," says the text. Actually, the word "compelled" is an even better translation, as in: "Jesus compelled the disciples to get into the boat and precede him to the other side."

Sometimes it is the obedient church that experiences the storm. Sometimes it is the obedient Christians who, in response to the leading of Christ, find themselves in the deepest waters and the most troubled seas. Sometimes it seems as if Jesus has no concern for the climate he is sending us into, but is only concerned with the climate of the souls who are being sent. A good Jewish mother would say: "Surely you're not going out on a night like this." My mother used to say that. And she wasn't even Jewish. But Jesus was no Jewish mother, believing (as it seems he did) that storm centers, rather than safe harbors, are where his followers ought to be.

Harold Bales, who was appointed to serve venerable old First United Methodist Church in downtown Charlotte, North Carolina, found himself in something of a storm center when he launched several outreach programs to the poor, who inhabited the fast-changing neighborhood around First Church's building. One day, Harold was confronted by one of his better-dressed, better- educated, and better-cultured members who had just passed several street people in the corridor of "her church."

"What in the world are you doing?" she asked her pastor, making obvious
reference to the very-dissimilar people she had just passed in the hall.

"I am trying to save people from Hell," replied Harold.

"Oh," she answered. "That's good. We should be trying to save them."

"Not them," Harold said. "Us. I'm trying to save us from Hell."

And whatever you believe about divine judgment and whether there is any such "hellish" dwelling place for the repose of the damned, you get Harold's point. We Christians will be judged by what we do when things are difficult, rather than on the basis of what we do when things are easy. What's more, he is suggesting that faith will be measured (and often discovered) when, as the hymn writer says, "The storms of life are raging," rather than on those nights when we listen to our mothers and refuse to venture out, for fear that it might rain.

But back to our story. It's still 3:00 in the morning....in a storm....on the sea....once upon a time. Or maybe not-so-very-once-upon-a-time. For many of you, this is last night's story. Tonight's story. Or tomorrow night's story.

For some, it is 3:00 in the morning economically. There is not a day goes by when I do not read about people who are out of work. But it is becoming an all-too-common experience to have firsthand encounters (in this very congregation) with friends who are out of work. And what about all those kids... including many of your kids.... who are fast coming to the ends of their academic careers and wondering whether there will be work for the looking.

And painting with a broader brush, aren't some of you beginning to worry that it is pressing on towards 3:00 in the morning as concerns the future of school-finance reform, not to mention health care reform. More and more, these fragile (but oh so necessary systems) seem to resemble those old cars we used to dismantle as teenagers.... always promising anybody and everybody that we could get them back in running order before somebody in the family needed to drive them, yet never really knowing if we could or would.

For others, it's 3:00 in the morning emotionally. Bruised and battered.., downed and defeated.... guilty and grieving.... use whatever brace of adjectives you like. And when you're feeling such things, it's always worse in the middle of the night. That's because at 3:00 there is no light by which to put things into perspective, and very few people to whom pieces of burden can be given.

A man on a stool hears the bartender announce: "Last call." As he pushes his glass toward one final refill, he is heard to say: "I came in here to drown my sorrows, only to discover that they've learned how to swim." It calls to mind that wonderful word- picture in the novel Hotel New Hampshire. "Sorrow" is the name of the old family dog that dies. Not quite knowing what to do with the carcass, they row out from shore and (in a comic parody of a burial at sea) throw him overboard. The next morning, one of the family's children stumbles over the old dead dog while searching for shells on the beach. Which causes him to come home and announce over a breakfast of pancakes and sausage: "Guess what? Sorrow floats." Indeed it does.

For still others, it's 3:00 in the morning ethically. Have you discovered that people don't always exhibit the clearest thinking, or make the best choices, when the rest of the world is sleeping? The anonymity of the post-midnight hours covers a multitude of sins. In the middle of the night, people feel cut off from the normal moral framework in which they live out their daylight hours, to the degree that anything desirable becomes acceptable, and anything rationalizable becomes justifiable. At 3:00 in the morning, our guard is down, and most of us can talk ourselves into almost anything. Temptation is incredibly nocturnal.

I see that as of the very-late-hours of Friday night.... or the wee-small-hours of Saturday morning....William Kennedy Smith is in trouble again. One wonders when Billy will ever learn one of life's elemental lessons: namely, if you can't leave a place sober, at least leave it early.

My favorite 3:00 in the morning song speaks to the ease with which moral compromises are made at that hour. It's a little but of a country-western song which, if it wasn't sung by Crystal Gayle, should'a been. Most of you will remember the lyric, even if I pick it up in the middle:

I don't care what's right or wrong,

I don't try to understand.

Let the devil take tomorrow,

                             For tonight I need a friend.

Yesterday is come and gone,

And tomorrow's out of sight,

And I hate to be alone,

Help me make it through the night.

And then there are those who fear that it is 3:00 in the morning ecclesiastically. These are the people who look at our denomination and argue that it will not come out of the storm intact... that numbers are statistically down.... that influence is significantly down.... and that faith is watered down. Many of you are here this morning as refugees of other religious institutions which, when you left, were more into survival than they were into ministry. And you are so glad to be here (in this place) that you could spit gold nickels while singing the doxology. Yet the fears that you first learned in other old familiar places, rise up to haunt you:

What if the same thing happens here?
 

What if we, too, fall on hard times?
 

What if present leadership fails us?
 

What is present leadership deserts us?

When I read our long-range planning document, prepared just a year or so before my appointment here, in a listing of responses to the question, "Name the overriding issue facing First Church in the '90's," at least one of you said: "Survival."

I don't know what time it is for you, this particular October morning. But I am willing to bet that I have hit one of your vulnerable spots somewhere in the last few minutes. I think that most of you know what 3:00 in the morning looks like for you.... feels like for you.... and when it was that such a moment last occurred in your life.

For that's when religion became more than an academic exercise, because that's when Jesus Christ became someone you hungered-after in your heart, rather than merely speculated-upon in your head. For the bottom line of the religious quest.... your religious quest.... my religious quest.... every religious quest.... is the raw edge of human need.

On an all-night flight from Melbourne, Australia to Athens, Greece, a professor of hydrology from India struck up a theological debate with Robert Fulghum (whose chief claim to fame has been a book telling us about all the really important stuff we learned in kindergarten). What was on the professor's mind was God. Specifically, he was troubled by why there are so many different names for God.... books about God.... routes to God.... and why one group of God's followers will gladly kill another group of God's followers, in the belief that they are somehow better serving or pleasing God.

Slowly the professor moved to the window and pointed down to the Indian Ocean, over which they were flying at that particular moment. Being a professor of hydrology, he began to speak of water. 

Water is everywhere (he said). Water is in all living things. We cannot be separated from it. No water, no life. Period. It comes in many forms: liquid, vapor, ice, snow, fog, rain, hail. But whatever the form, it's still water.

Human beings give this stuff many names in many languages. But it's crazy to argue over what its true name is. Call it what you will, it makes no difference to the water. It is what it is.

Human beings drink water from many vessels: cups, glasses, jugs, skins of animals, their own hands, whatever. But to argue over what container is proper for water is crazy.

Similarly, while some like it hot, some cold, some iced, some fizzed, some mixed with coffee, tea, scotch, whatever, it still doesn't change the nature of the water.

Never mind the name. Never mind the cup. Never mind the mix. These are not important. What is important is the one thing we have in common. Namely, thirst.

And that's what 3:00 in the morning is all about. Thirst! Whether you're tossing on a bed or tossing in a boat. Whether the storm is without or the storm is within. Whether you're rowing like hell, or toward it. The only thing that will satisfy is the one who, in our tradition, is called "Living Water." Which is precisely what we get.... or who we get....if our story is to be believed. For, in the fourth watch of the night, when everything seemed contrary, Jesus came to them, walking on the sea. Don't ask how. That's an unanswerable question. It's also the wrong question.

That whole debate (about how Jesus could possibly walk upon the water) misses the point of the story. I think the miracle has less to do with a Jesus who comes by impossible means, than with the Jesus who comes at impossible times. When it is darkest, he comes. When we are weariest, he comes. When the sea is so wide and our boat is so small.... when we are a day late and a dollar short.... or a month late and a rent payment short.... when the storms of life are raging.... when we're up a creek with no paddle, and our arms are too tired to hold a paddle if we had one.... when it's too dark to see by.... or (worse yet) when it's too dark to hope by.... Jesus comes 'round.

I don't know many composers of church music personally, but one with whom I have had a chance to break more than an occasional crust of bread is Walter Schurr. He has written so many beautiful things.... some of them intricate.... some of them complex.... all of them melodic. But none more elemental than a little spiritual he wrote (for 3:00-in-the-morning people), that I first heard seven years ago.

Jesus, won't you come by here, Jesus, won't you come by here, Jesus,  won't  you  come  by  here.

Now is the needin' time, Now is the needin' time, Now  is  the  needin'  time.

Man Overboard 10/31/1993

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Matthew 14:22-33

Let me redraw, from memory, a cartoon from some years ago. Picture an executive office, high atop an urban skyscraper. Picture a magnificent desk, as polished as it is huge, complete with a C.E.O. type seated behind it. Standing before the desk, picture a plain man dressed in work clothes, obviously representative of a menial employee in the organization. Then picture that man saying to his boss: "If it's any comfort, sir, it's lonely at the bottom too."

If we didn't know it before, we should surely know it now: no matter who you are.... no matter where you are.... no matter what you are... life can be both low and lonely. "Low," because the bottom has a way of failing out.  And "lonely," because people have a way of falling away.

Last week, in our initial foray into this dramatic story of storm and sea, we talked about why it always seems darker at 3:00 in the morning than at any other time of the day or night. Several of you were kind enough to say that I had correctly captured your feelings associated with that hour, intimating that as a result of having been there once or twice, you remembered it well. One of you went so far as to research a couple of literary allusions to this biblical reference, especially F. Scott Fitzgerald's recollection that 3:00 in the morning and "the dark night of the soul" is one and the same thing. I like that, given my desire to have you understand that the 3:00 image in this story is not solely about how dark it can get outside, but how dark it can get inside. So let me take you back to Galilee (the sea, that is).....and the storm which, when last we left it, was battering boats and trying souls in the wee small hours of the morning.

As you will remember, last Sunday's sermon ended with Jesus walking toward the weary crew, high-stepping it across the waves. How? That's anybody's guess. But that's not the issue. You're not supposed to get all strung out over the question of "could he or couldn't he" (walk the waves, that is). The message of that part of the story is not that Jesus comes by impossible means, but that Jesus comes at impossible times. Jesus has this way of showing up (the story seems to say) just when you think that nobody can.... or will.

At any rate, the boat people see him coming. Or, to be more specific, they see someone.... or something.... coming. They are terrified. "It's a ghost," they say, crying out in fear. How strange, says Fred Craddock, that the Savior should seem like a spook. Perhaps it was the downpour.  Perhaps, the delirium. It wouldn't be the first time that, in the middle of a crisis (or in the middle of the night), someone couldn't see or think straight.

Or perhaps they saw in him, not the harbinger of help, but the visitation of death. I can understand that. People sometimes view me that way. I will be talking with "good" church people (like you) about some unchurched people (known to you). The latter are temporarily sick and in the hospital. That seems to concern you. Thinking that you are fishing for my offer to make a visit, I express a willingness to trek to the hospital. At first, you accept my generous offer. Then you think better of it. To be sure, you'd like me to go. But you are worried that were I to go (meaning that if a minister were suddenly to show up), the patient would think he was dying. And you're probably right. Some people think that way. "If a minister comes 'round, I must be in a really bad way. There must be something that somebody isn't telling me. He wouldn't be coming in, if I wasn't checking out."  And so I stay away, lest my help be misperceived as doom. Jesus reads that fear and decides to address it. "Don't be afraid," he says. "Courage, it is I." Which should have done it. But it didn't. For the next sentence out of Peter's mouth betrays how deep his suspicion really is. "Lord," Peter says, "If it is you, tell me to come to you across the water.”

I love that line, probably because (for so many years) I missed its meaning completely. Think, for a moment, about how you would identify your friend from an impostor, especially if it was too dark to see clearly and too stormy to hear accurately. You would probably look for something in the message itself that would seem consistent-with, and typical-of, the kind of thing your friend might say to you.  So it is with Peter. Confronted with the possibility that what he is seeing might be both ghostly and ghastly, Peter is not about to trust a simple: "Courage, 'tis me." Instead, he says: "Lord, I'll know it's you if you ask me to come to you across the water." In reality, I think Peter is thinking something like this:

The Lord I know.... indeed the only Lord I have ever known.... is the one who asks more of me than anybody ever asked of me before. So if this is really the Lord (who has come at this impossible time), I'm going to know it by the fact that I'll be invited to respond in an equally impossible way. If it's really Jesus, he is going to step-into-the-breach by asking me to step-up-to the test.

That's just his way. That's always been his way. That's his trademark. If it's really Jesus (and not some ghostly apparition or figment of my imagination), the next word out of his mouth is going to be: "Peter, come."

My friends, that's how you know the real Jesus from the fakes. And that's how you tell the real Christian church from all of the ones that use the name and put a cross on the roof, but bear no resemblance to the real thing.

I know that the world doesn't lack for institutions claiming to be the "one true church." Customarily, they stake their claim on the fact that they hold one particular belief, affirm one peculiar doctrine, or baptize in one certain way. But if there is any institution even remotely on the right road to the truth about Jesus Christ, It is going to be that institution which (in the name of Jesus) asks more of you than it offers to give to you.

It is so tempting for the church of Jesus Christ to ride out the storms of our day by hunkering down with a good book and reading it in the fiery glow that is generated by friends who are tried, true and compatible. But that's not the church of the New Testament. Over the last several years, I have attended any number of "church growth" seminars, all of them purporting to know the secret of getting "baby boomers" to join up and become members. The theory is advanced that "boomers are consumers" who "shop" for churches like they shop for anything else. They like quality.... expect quality.... demand quality.... and (if attracted) are even willing to pay for quality.  Music is important to them; it had better be good. Children are important to them; there had better be plenty of activities for them (and not in the basement, either). Given some other things that are important to them, there had better be seminars for growth, groups for friends, and parking that rivals the mall for ease and convenience. And woe be unto the church that doesn't realize that, for 'boomers," the crib nursery has replaced the ladies' parlor as the room that is second in importance, only to the sanctuary.

I understand that. I have modified much of my ministry to accommodate that. What's more, I have learned that it's not just "boomers" who are demanding greater and greater degrees of excellence in every facet of the church's life. It's everybody from little kids to the rocking chair set. The things against which the church must compete for the attention and assets of its members are so slick and professional that we have to offer twice as much, and do it twice as well, just to keep up.

But I still believe (deep in my heart and soul) that people want to be stretched as well as massaged, challenged as well as coddled, and confronted repeatedly with the biblical paradox that says you've got to invest in order to enjoy, serve in order to live, and give whole big chunks of yourself away if you ever expect to come upon a self worth finding.

Instinctively, I think we know this.... that the only Christ worth heeding and the only church worth joining is one that says: "Get over the side. Get your feet wet. Do what you don't think you can do. Go where you don't think you can go. And give what you don't think you can give."

So, you see, I don't apologize for the fact that we ask a lot of you.... and from you.... here at Birmingham First. I don't apologize for the fact that before next October rolls around, we are going to ask you to teach in a second Sunday School at the 11:00 hour, or take a leadership role in other growing programs. I don't apologize for the fact that, even as we speak, members of the Nominating Committee are buzzing some of your phone lines, asking you do accept positions in our church's officiary. I don't apologize for the fact that we ask some of you to perform great music, others of you to prepare hearty meals, while asking still others to pray for the sickly, visit the elderly, carry food to the hungry, repair flood damage in the valley, shelter the homeless occasionally, or lay down on a table and bleed into a plastic bag annually. Nor do I apologize for the fact that we sometimes ask some of you to head for the hills (as in Appalachia), or down to the Corridor (as in Cass), or, at the very least, dig a little deeper into your pocket in order to support those who do. And I am certainly not going to apologize for being the point man who asks you to step up to the financial challenges that this year's campaign will articulate.

Every non-Birmingham person I met last spring said: "Congratulations on your appointment; you're going to a great church." And every Birmingham insider I met last spring said: "Congratulations on your appointment: you're coming to a great church." And every one of you I have met (at every meeting I have attended since June 27) has done nothing to diminish the idea that I have arrived at a great church. But when I sift through reams of data about attendance and stewardship patterns.... pledge profiles and giving tables.... it is hard to escape the fact that this "great church" is also a slightly complacent church. To be sure, from out front it's hardly noticeable. But I guarantee you, if our response to this year's appeal continues the pattern of slippage evidenced in the responses to recent year's appeals; there will be little choice but to take the kinds of steps that will be noticeable. ... and perhaps even painful.

But it doesn't have to be that way. In Christ, we can summon the will. And in the mountains of written Information being shared with you, can be found the way. What's more, virtually very conversation I have with you reveals a sense of readiness on your part.... even a hunger.... to get on with whatever God has in store for us next. Stormy though it may be, and tired though we may be, I sense a collective readiness to hear the Gospel.

"Get out of the boat," Jesus said to Peter. And Peter must have said something like this to himself:

Hey, I've heard this before. I've done this before. And it worked before. Granted, my boat was tied up to the shore before. There was no storm before. And it wasn't the middle of the night before. But if it's really Jesus....given that I have already left my boat and followed Him once....why should I let a little deep water stop me now?

And with that, Peter was over the side. I like that in Peter.  Heck, I like that in anybody. There are those who test the waters, a toe at a time. And there are those who jump right in. In a world filled with the former, I find that I increasingly relish the latter.

To be sure, there is always a time for prudence.... for caution.... for calculation. And there are people who are good at such things. I have always tried to keep a number of prudent folk around me. We have done some "careful work" together. But it has only been when I have widened the circle around me to include a few first-out-of-the-boat people, that "careful work" has occasionally become "great work," and church maintenance has begun to feel like Christian ministry.

Of late, I have taken to sharing with a few of my friends the highest compliment that I can possibly pay them. I tell them that, were I ever to find myself in great distress (or great trouble) and had but 20 cents and the opportunity to make one phone call, that I could (and would) call them. For I know that they would come first and ask questions later. They would come, whether I needed a lift or a loan.... a friend or a witness. I know that I could ring up their boat and it wouldn't matter as to the lateness of the hour or the severity of the storm. They would have one leg over the side while their hand would still be warm on the receiver. What is amazing is how many people I truly feel that way about. And what it equally amazing is that every one of those people is someone I met in church.

All of us know people like that. And, to some degree, all of us are people like that. There is not a one of us who wouldn't step out for somebody, or step up to something. None of us is so fat and sassy.... so lazy and lethargic.... so content and comfortable.... that we would rot in the boat forever. The question is; "How wet will we get for what, and how far will we go for whom?"

The danger, of course, is that we will hear the summons and wait to see what everybody else does first. Like a group of junior high girls trying to decide whether to attend some 8th grade dance, the church of Jesus Christ is often filled with people looking quizzically at each other, saying: "I'll go if you'll go.... I'll do what you'll do.... but let's not try anything until we're sure that we are all in this together." In this church, it often takes the form of people saying: "What we have to do is get more money out of all those people who don't give us anything." Which is not a bad idea, but which sounds (each time I hear it) less like your suggestion of how to proceed congregationally, and more like your deflection of whatever it is you are being asked to do personally.

Notice that our story is not about a request for everybody in the boat to swim two or three strokes for Jesus, but for one particular individual to step out into the fray in response to Jesus. And make no mistake about it, this story is not told for the benefit of the rest of the people in the boat. This story is told for you.

As I wrote in this week's Steeple Notes, this trio of sermons owes its inspiration to an anonymous admirer of our former Bishop, Judy Craig. One day he gave her a lapel badge which read: 'WALKING ON WATER IS A PART OF MY JOB DESCRIPTION." My friends,

That’s not only funny,
             that's not only true,

                      that's not only mandatory,

                               that's possible!