Mark 8:27‑38 – Jesus asks the disciples “who do you say that I am?”
I’ve always spent time reflecting on my ministry but more so now that the end is in sight. I turn the pages of well-worn books to see what I marked, and look through folders filled with things that once seemed relevant, even urgent.
Through it all there has been one particular concern – our primary work is to adapt faithfully and wisely to this age that is unlike any other you and I have ever known. When I was ordained 40-plus years ago I began in a church that my parents and grandparents would easily have recognized. Today, we who were once called “Mainline Protestants,” are now more accurately “sidelined Protestants,” especially here in northern New England. We have to deal with it. Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in the 1950’s any more!
I don’t know if dinosaurs danced as they faced extinction. I don’t know if they knew enough to be very worried as they died out from a meteor shower or climate change or simply because they couldn’t adapt.
Sometimes I think we’re dancing like dinosaurs. We, as disciples, must pay attention to what’s happening all around us. Do you suppose we’re dying out? Will “spiritual but not religious” have the last word? One vivid memory comes from our family’s cross-country trip during my sabbatical the summer of 1997.
The notes in my old journal remind me that it happened this way: we arrived in the little town of Mariposa, California, on a late July Saturday afternoon, hot, tired, and very grateful to have motel reservations, for the visitors’ center sign announced there were no vacant rooms within 40 miles of Yosemite National Park in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. It’s spectacular country. We’d been warned that it’s one of the busiest parks in the country — often jammed with tens of thousands of visitors.
We wanted to worship in the Park. For decades the national parks have hosted college and seminary students in the National Parks Ministry. These young folks work on regular park jobs during the week and lead worship on Sundays for visitors. The Park newspaper listed the Protestant worship service at 9 a.m. in the campground amphitheater.
We entered Yosemite at the gate near the giant Sequoias, recalling that these ancient trees stand for centuries because they grow in groves, weaving their roots together, and they bend in the wind rather than snapping – good metaphor for a church.
Anyway I asked the Ranger where the Protestant worship service would be held. “Don’t know,” said the ranger. “Here it’s listed in the Park announcements,” I answered, “9 a.m. in the campground amphitheater.” “News to me – try the gate house at the campground.” We did. The Ranger there knew nothing about a worship service, but did give us directions to the amphitheater. It was a lovely spot right on the shore of the river, under huge trees. The skies were crisp and clear.
Ten minutes of nine – others will be arriving soon… or not. We waited and waited and waited. We began to muse why there was no one around: well, folks on vacation don’t want to go to worship; folks in the park have other things to do; maybe others wanted to get here and couldn’t get directions either. Maybe, maybe, maybe. There are lots of possible explanations. But the fact remained: three of us, alone, worshiping in our simple way among the ancient trees and no one else came.
Do you suppose folks here in this sanctuary will feel that way in another generation or two; like dinosaurs dancing? Oh, there are lots of good people around. I’m certainly not dividing the world in two – saying one kind are the good Christians who always worship even when on vacation; and then all the rest who are axe murderers and embezzlers and worse. We know better than that.
We as a Christian congregation do many things well, and do lots of them much the way we always have. But we have to pay attention to the one extraordinary reality that frames everything else: the culture around us does not welcome narrow-minded, finger-wagging Christians and they don’t know there’s another way to follow Jesus.
That has continued to be the case, by and large, but we now know that in New England, the fastest growth is among those who say “none of the above.” Ours is considered the least religious state in the union, with 59% expressing absolute belief in God, and 23% worshiping on a weekly basis.
Our congregation has experienced the choppy waters, but I believe overall we’ve done well. We’ve been faithful. Certainly there are other churches like ours that are larger and richer, but many, too, that have closed their doors since 1990. Surely there must be some congregations that work harder and have more fun, who truly love and respect each other whether in their agreements or disagreements, but I can’t name a one.
As our numbers have shrunk over these years and we’ve needed to tighten our belts and set our priorities, we’ve also enhanced the building so it’s wonderfully functional, fully accessible, and mortgage free; we’ve made a significant impact on neighbors’ lives through Community Crisis Ministries; we’ve lived out our welcome and broadened our reach. We’ve maintained our support of OCWM – Our Church’s Wider Mission – which contributes to statewide, national, and international United Church of Christ ministries.
So far we, our congregation, has responded well to the challenges of being Christians in our time. We’ve worked side by side to lift up God’s creative love and grace, Jesus’ example as friend, teacher, redeemer and companion on the way. We’ve balanced head and heart, passion and compassion with critical thinking to address the realities of the world today.
But we need to be confident about who we are and what we believe.
Jesus said; “Who do people say that I am?” {28} And they answered him, “John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” {29} He asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.”
Jesus asked two questions. The first question was easy. We can answer it as well as the disciples did. As Casey Stengel said: “you can look it up.” Listen to conversations here and there. Read the religion column in Time or Newsweek.
Some say he’s savior, or a great teacher, or a nice guy. Some says he’s fiction. If I’m reading the Gospel accurately, Jesus didn’t much care what other people said about him. He only used that question as a warm up. The real question was the second.
“Who do YOU say that I am?”
If you claim to be a disciple, how do you intend to show it? If we can’t tell others who Jesus was and what he means to us we’re dancing like dinosaurs; we’ll die out, simply disappear from the face of the earth; leaving behind old empty buildings and infinite tons of paper like fossils to be studied by future generations. And they’ll debate what really happened.
Jesus said to them – if you want to be my follower, you’ll have to deny yourself and take up your cross and follow. If you only care about your comfort and security, you’ll lose it all. If you want to know peace and hope, do that first and everything else will follow. Don’t be ashamed – be bold and live what you believe and it will change the world.
Following Jesus can bring great joy and comfort. Touching the hem of God’s garment through prayer and scripture and community and service can give your life a focus nothing else can touch.
Gathering here as we do gives us something rich and good. Here we are welcomed, loved, and encouraged so we can then go into the world and live what we believe. But if we think of discipleship as a spare-time hobby, we may indeed be dancing like dinosaurs on the edge of the abyss.
It’s time for us to be fully awake:
- Read the Bible at home;
- be faithful in worship;
- pray alone and with a circle;
- teach your children, our children, to walk in faith
- attend classes, or better yet, teach one;
- pay attention;
- open your heart to the working of the Holy Spirit.
Jesus may have been curious to hear what others had said about him, but much more important was his question to his disciples – there and then, here and now: “who do you say that I am?”