Sunday, November 24, 2024

Feast of Saint Andrew the Apostle (transferred)

 Deuteronomy 30:11-14; Psalm 19:1-6; Romans 8b-18; Matthew 4:18-22

 The Rev. Clint Brown

In honor of St. Andrew, the first one called, I have decided to preach today on what I am calling the logic of mission, for, as Christians, I think we all know and understand that evangelism is an expected part of the job. It’s not enough that we care about our own ticket to heaven. Knowing what Christianity stands for, we want to be giving it away. So, this morning, let me take a few moments to demystify what is, let’s be honest, not an Episcopalian strong suit and talk a bit about mission. There is, as I see it, a rather simple logic to mission, of which there are four logical moves.

The first is to ask ourselves, in an honest way, “Do I truly believe this?” And, if the answer is yes, then it follows that some things about your life must change. If we’re sold on the gospel, if we believe that it matters, then we should act like it. We should talk different. We should move through the world different. We should think different. And our model in this is Jesus Christ. To the best of our ability, a Christian’s goal is simply to be trying to be more and more like Jesus. And the way all this ties back into mission is that to live this way intently and sincerely should – indeed, it cannot help but – be attractive to anyone sitting on the outside looking in. This, it seems to me, is the logic of mission: belief – belief that prompts change – a change that is modelled on Jesus Christ – and, finally, a change that is so recognizably Christ-like that it can’t help but be irresistible. In my view, any evangelistic effort or program or intention that does not come from a place of lived authenticity – that does not put the onus on us to live compelling and persuasive lives – slides all too easily into gimmickry and a corporate model approach to mission which I find repugnant to the spirit of the gospel.

So having made this sketch of the logic of mission, let’s take each of these moves now in turn and provide some detail. Going back to the first move, the first thing that we must settle is belief. Do you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and, if so, what difference does that make? On any given Sunday, even as I look out at all of you today, I know there is a potentially vast range of postures and attitudes toward Jesus represented here: from the skeptical, guarded, and perhaps even hostile; to the middle-of-the-road, apathetic, mechanical, and perfunctory; to the fervent, expectant, and devoted. The fact is that when we open the doors of St. Andrew’s it is to all kinds of seekers and seeking. Our job is to facilitate an encounter, and our work here is meant to have relevance. It is supposed to change lives. And if the gospel is at all convincing, and I believe it is, then it will not let us go or leave us unchanged.

To be confronted with the reality of Jesus is, you see, meant to be calamitous. We are supposed to feel a bit like the ground has shifted from under our feet. We are meant to feel shaken, curious, unsettled, and convicted by the example of Jesus Christ, a life lived in such perfect and resolute obedience to God. And also moved by the entire recorded experience of God’s people handed down to us in the Bible. The message proclaimed from this pulpit and this altar every Sunday is all meant to point to one thing – the crucified and risen Son of God – and then to call us to follow, just like Andrew.

Jesus is especially to be found here – at church. The church is both a hospital and a school. It is the place to be healed and equipped. Here is where every hungry seeker is provided with food for the journey. And it matters a great deal to me, as I’m sure it does to you, that at St. Andrew’s no one is denied a seat at the table. But understand that whatever you do here is only completed by what you do out there. On the six other days of the week, do you make the Golden Rule your mantra? Do you make prayer and reading your Bible a habit? Do you seek out opportunities to give and to serve? Are you careful and honest in your self-examination and confession of sin? All of these are the marks of a mature Christian faith. All of these make your faith attractive to others.

I trust, by now, that you see my main point. When it comes to flagging attendance and a general disapproval of the church by the culture at large, we Christians need to accept more of the responsibility. The narrative is not just of a culture moving on in an increasingly secular direction and grown hostile to the gospel. It is also that we have failed to be convincing. As you have often heard me lament from this pulpit, the reason more people don’t want to come to church is that they have been disappointed by too many Christians. And so I say that there can be no effective witness for Jesus, in these difficult times, without Christians taking very seriously their responsibility to live radically altered lives following the example of Christ – deeply committed to love, deeply serious about service, deeply compassionate, deeply hopeful.

Whatever that looks like for you, I’m going to leave for you to answer for yourself, but I do challenge you to consider this: If you were hauled into court, and you were accused of being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you? The Hasidim tell the story of a disciple who said to his teacher, “Teacher, I have gone completely through the Torah. What must I do now?” And the teacher said, “Oh, my friend, the question is not, Have you gone through the Torah? The question is, Has the Torah gone through you?” I would like to think that I could plead guilty.