A Shared Sabbatical -- FPC sermon excerpt

I’ll be leaving Saturday, August 1, for a three-month sabbatical. Then, on November the 1st, I’ll be back.

Did I just hear somebody mutter, “Darn it!”?

No, it’s true. I will be back. And I say this because some people fear that a pastor’s sabbatical is really a giant step out the door. A chance to look for another church. An opportunity to rethink his or her future.

That is certainly not true for me. I can honestly say that I have never been more excited about the mission and ministry of Fairfax Presbyterian Church. The staff that is assembled here is the best team we have had in my eight years as senior pastor. And I am thrilled with the energy and enthusiasm you are all showing as we work together to be a truly Uncommon Christian Community. You might be happy to learn that, according to a recent survey, 80 percent of congregations report that a sabbatical “strengthened the pastor’s commitment to their congregation.”

My sabbatical will be an opportunity for me to visit other churches that are trying, as we are, to embrace “all people with God’s love and grace.” I’ll learn from these congregations, and then come back and share my findings. I want to look at the best practices of churches that do an excellent job of welcoming people with true hospitality, and then return to FPC with some fresh ideas for ministry here.

I also want to take a break, and enjoy some rest and renewal. Jesus knows I need it.

In the Gospel of Mark, the apostles have been working very hard, preaching and healing, when Jesus says to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while” (Mark 6:31). He invites them to stop their work and take a mini-sabbatical, knowing that this word is related to the Hebrew verb meaning “cease, stop, interrupt.” According to Scripture, the first followers of Jesus are an awful lot like ourselves — working long hours, coming and going, with no chance even to sit down and grab a bite! So they accept the invitation of Jesus, and escape by boat to a deserted place.

Jesus grasps something that today’s best thinkers are only beginning to understand: Decomposition takes time. The making of good, rich, life-giving compost, for example, takes time. Yes, you heard right; I’m talking about compost. “You can’t hurry compost for the same reason you can’t hurry love and you can’t hurry a soufflé,” explains James Gleick, author of the book Faster. In the same way, grandchildren take time, learning a foreign language takes time, the testing of new drugs takes time, and vacations that truly enable us to rest, relax, and recreate take time. That’s why I’m taking a three-month sabbatical: Decomposition takes time.

I need to decompose a bit, if I’m going to come back here full of nutrients — nutrients that this church needs for health and growth.

Resting a while is not simply a personal choice, according to Jesus — it is critical for any of us who are being battered by our hyperspeed, ramped-up world. We need to get back to the Old English meaning of the word “speed,” which was success and prosperity — not velocity. After all, the word “Godspeed” doesn’t mean “God hustle you along,” it means “God grant you a successful and prosperous journey.” Becoming fertile, rich, successful, and mature takes time, and it requires decomposing.

The good news is that some supercharged souls seem to be getting the message and slowing down a bit. There is a serious resurgence of Sabbath-keeping going on around us, as people discover the benefits of breaking out of the workaday world and devoting a day a week to reflection and relaxation. The benefits are numerous and range far beyond the spiritual. My friend Bill Parent, the Roman Catholic priest who got me into marathon running, tells me that a universally recognized training principle is that a runner becomes faster by taking a day off from training each week. “The Sabbath principle,” he observes, “is built into our physical bodies.”

If you want to run faster, the key is to stop running, at least one day a week. Stop and decompose a bit. John Sonnenday, the former pastor of Immanuel Presbyterian Church, is convinced that the one group that most desperately needs some Sabbath time each week is our children — they need time and attention from us, and they also need time just to be themselves. Sabbath is a reminder that we — both children and adults — are more than beasts of burden, more than cogs in a wheel, more than students or workers who are valued for our contributions. On our day of rest, we discover we are valuable simply because we exist.

From a personal standpoint, I am hoping that my sabbatical will help me to rediscover this for myself. It is an important, spiritual truth: I am valuable simply because I exist, as a child of God. My value doesn’t come from preaching sermons or writing articles or teaching classes or moderating the session. It doesn’t come from making a certain salary or living in a nice home or driving a brand-new car.

No, I am valuable because I exist, as one of God’s precious children. And so are you.

There is a lot that my sabbatical can teach me, and a lot that it can teach you as well. That’s why I have titled this sermon “A Shared Sabbatical.” I am getting a break from serving as your pastor, and you are getting a break from me! Good things can definitely happen in all of our lives as we disengage and decompose a bit.

Shall We Dance? -- FPC sermon excerpt

“Dancing with the Stars.”

It’s been a wildly popular TV show, number one in its time slot.

“So You Think You Can Dance?”

Another hit show, with a collection of young dancers competing in a rapid-fire series of traditional and contemporary dance styles. Combine these shows with the movies “Dance With Me,” “Take the Lead,” and “Step Up,” and you’ve got a genuine dance sensation, sweeping the nation.

What’s surprising — even shocking, given our couch-potato tendencies — is that Americans are not simply watching these shows. No, we are actually hitting the dance floor ourselves. Tango, swing, and ballroom dancing have been on the rise for over a decade, predating the TV dance craze. Studios are seeing a 30 or 40 percent increase in students over the past ten years.

So we are not only watching dance, we are doing it. Or trying to, anyway. And with the rising popularity of reality TV dance shows, this white-hot trend shows no sign of cooling off.

King David would have been an excellent contestant on “Dancing with the Stars,” since he was a big celebrity in his day. In 2 Samuel 6, David and his people bring the ark of God to Jerusalem, and as they make their way to the city David and all the house of Israel are “dancing before the LORD with all their might, with songs and lyres and harps and tambourines and castanets and cymbals” (v. 5).

It is an incredibly joyful worship experience, full of music and shouting and enthusiastic movement. “How they cut loose together,” writes Presbyterian author Frederick Buechner: David and God, “whirling around before the ark in such a passion that they caught fire from each other and blazed up in a single flame” of magnificence. Not even the scolding that David got from his wife Michal afterwards could dim the glory of it.

David does quite a dance before the ark. It is nothing if not “enthusiastic,” a word that comes from the Greek en theos, meaning “in God.” And David’s wife Michal absolutely hates it.

It feels awkward to her, as dancing often does. Embarrassing. Inappropriate.

According to Second Samuel, she despises him in her heart (v. 16).

We can sympathize with Michal, can’t we? She wasn’t an evil woman, but she had a hard time with David’s enthusiasm. Today, when Christians from Ghana bring their offerings forward in worship, they move in a dance of celebration and liberation and joy in the Lord. But many American Christians struggle with this — one woman at my previous church made the comment, after witnessing a Ghanaian offering, “If they want to worship that way, fine with me. But don’t bring it into my sanctuary. They were running up and down the aisle, hollering, ‘I’m happy, I’m happy’ … Well, as I say, if they want to do that, that’s their business. But why do I have to sit and listen to it?”

Many people don’t want dance in worship. It feels awkward, embarrassing, inappropriate.

As the woman said, “Don’t bring it into my sanctuary.”

So, shall we dance? Many of us would rather not. And I can tell you that you wouldn’t want to watch me dance, in worship or anyplace else. About all I can do is follow the example of Paul Taylor, the innovative American dancer and choreographer. He once contributed a modern dance solo in which he simply stood motionless on stage for four minutes — he just stood still, not moving a muscle. Yeah, I can do that.

Now it’s hard to know what to say about such a dance, but one reviewer for a dance magazine responded in an appropriate way: His review consisted of just four inches of white space. He wrote nothing about nothing.

The dancing we do in church tends to be quite similar to Paul Taylor’s solo. What we do is nothing — we just stand still, hardly moving a muscle. Our worship of God involves our minds, our hearts, and our tongues, but rarely our whole bodies.

David’s wife Michal would certainly approve.

There’s a serious problem with this, and it has nothing to do with whether we actually allow dance in worship or not. The dancing question is a distraction — the real issue is much deeper. Our main problem today is a lack of enthusiasm — we have become so concerned with feeling awkward, embarrassed, and inappropriate as Christians that we have choked much of the enthusiasm out of our service to God.

And here’s the real tragedy: If we are not enthusiastic, we are not en theos, in God.

One with the Sun -- FPC sermon excerpt

Dancers, singers, actors, and artists. They all want one thing.

Fame.

Back in 1980, there was an Oscar-winning movie called “Fame,” a film that followed a group of talented students through four years at the New York City High School of Performing Arts. This September, a new version of this film will be released, starring Kelsey Grammer and Debbie Allen. You might remember that Debbie Allen played a dance instructor in the original movie, but now, after 29 years, she has been cast as the school’s principal.

The headlines are reading: “Allen Returns To Fame.”

The environment is incredibly competitive in this high school, and each student’s talents, passions, and determination are put to the test. In addition, the students face all of the other struggles of high school — schoolwork, friendships, romances, and the rocky road of self-discovery. The drama of this film lies in its depiction of teenagers growing up, while also discovering whether they have the talent and discipline to become true stars.

One of the many stirring songs from the movie includes the lyrics,

I sing the body electric, I celebrate the new year to come,
I toast to my own reunion when I become one with the sun.
And I’ll look back on Venus, I’ll look back on Mars, and I’ll burn with the fire of ten million suns;
And in time, and in time, we will all be stars.

That’s the dream of each of these young people: To become one with the sun, to burn brightly in the heavens, to become a star.

Some achieve this goal, of course, and go on to great artistic success. But most blow up, burn out, or just fade away. “Everybody else here is colorful, or eccentric, or charismatic,” laments one of the students, “and I’m perfectly normal.” You can just hear the sadness in her voice.

Being normal is not necessarily an advantage when your goal is to achieve fame. Just ask Michael Jackson. Fame comes from possessing enormous talent, and a burning desire to become one with the sun. But sometimes fame can destroy you.

Jesus encounters this very same longing for glory when, in the ninth chapter of Mark, he is passing through the region of Galilee with his disciples. Not that he feels it himself — he sees it in his followers. Jesus is avoiding the spotlight in a way that would be unthinkable to the students of the New York City High School of Performing Arts. Instead of seeking attention, he lies low, and uses his undercover time to teach his disciples that “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again” (Mark 9:30-31).

The disciples don’t get it. They do not understand what he is saying, and they are afraid to ask him (v. 32). This talk of betrayal and death and rising again does not fit their idea of a good career plan.

It’s important to remember that this chapter of Mark begins with the Transfiguration, that glorious mountaintop experience in which Jesus is revealed to be the Son of God. Mark tells us that his clothes become “dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them” (v. 3), and Matthew adds that “his face shone like the sun” (17:2). He enters into a conversation with Elijah and Moses, the two superstars of the Old Testament, and the voice of God booms out of a cloud, “This is my Son, the Beloved, listen to him!” (Mark 9:4-7). Jesus appears to be a rising star, one who will burn with the fire of ten million suns.

At least that’s what the disciples think.

But Jesus has another idea. “The Son of Man is to be betrayed … killed ... [and] rise again,” he says (v. 31). He predicts that his fire will be snuffed out completely before it is rekindled by God.

The disciples continue to follow Jesus along the road to the town of Capernaum, and when they reach their destination he asks them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” They are silent, because they had been sparring with one another about who was the greatest. They had been singing another song from the movie “Fame”:

I’m gonna live forever, I’m gonna learn how to fly!
I feel it coming together, People will see me and cry!
I’m gonna make it to heaven, Light up the sky like a flame!
I’m gonna live forever, Baby remember my name!

The disciples love the idea of being famous, but at the same time they know that there is something deeply wrong with this approach. They sense that it is somehow opposed to the agenda of a Messiah who keeps quiet about his accomplishments (vv. 33-34). So they stand around in the house in Capernaum, looking at their feet in shame.

That’s right: Shame. Not fame.

Then Jesus sits down in his teacher’s seat, calls the twelve disciples, and says to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” To be first you must be last, he insists; to be a star you must be a servant (v. 35).