Today’s sermon was, as usual, a masterpiece by Pastor Mitch. He piqued the historian in me when he discussed The 100: A Ranking of the Most Influential Persons in History, a 1978 book by Michael H. Hart. Mitch asked all of us to pick our top three, then solicited our responses. (I chose, somewhat incoherently and with buyer’s remorse, “Jesus, Genghis Khan, and Abraham Lincoln”.) He then went through Hart’s top ten, with Muhammad listed as number one, Isaac Newton at two, Jesus Christ at three, and so on.
He said that one name that surprises a lot of people was St. Paul, at number six, just below Confucius and above Cai Lun (the inventor of paper). Mitch points out that without St. Paul, Christianity could have remained a localized sect, one of many “mystery religions”, to borrow a term from a Roman history class.
This led into a sermon on St. Paul’s conversion (and also about John Newton, slave trader turned Anglican minister, and author of “Amazing Grace, How Sweet the Sound”.)
Our attention was called to the text on the back of our bulletin. Our denomination, the United Church of Christ (born from the old Congregational and Reformed denominations) prints a common Sunday bulletin cover and back page, which usually includes a story related to the focus scripture.
This particular one stands out for its frankness on the failures of the UCC and of individual Christians.
I’ve underlined portions that may be of particular interest to anyone, Christian or not, who might be interested or receptive to the complex history of this denomination, the heterogeneity of Christianity in America, or perhaps one more historical anecdote that shows“only Nixon could go to China.”
***
From the United Church of Christ Sunday bulletin, April 18, 2010
Acts 9:1-6, (7-20)
Our Damascus
“Have you found Jesus?”
“I didn’t know he was lost.”
Funny or not, that old joke betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of the New Testament: It isn’t we who find Jesus. It is Jesus who finds us.
Today’s focus scripture, in the Book of Acts, recounts the story of Saul’s conversion into the Apostle Paul. On his way to Damascus in search of Christians to bring back to Jerusalem as prisoners, Saul of Tarsus was blinded by a flash of light and tumbled to the ground. Then he heard a voice asking, “Why do you persecute me?” The speaker, of course, was Jesus.
Ask the Apostle Paul about finding Jesus, and he would doubtless reply, “Are you kidding? He waylaid me.”
Paul’s experience on the road to Damascus can be mistaken for the classic story of repentance: the sinner whose sense of guilt opens himself to Jesus’ saving grace. But by his own lights, and those of his community, Saul, the Jew from Tarsus, was doing no wrong in trying to suppress a dissenting movement within Judaism. It took Jesus to show him the error of his ways.
Most of the evil in this world is done by people like Saul, who believe they are doing good. That is even in the case in the United Church of Christ. In an earlier time, as a church we condoned racial segregation with racist arguments—even in our own houses of worship. And until recently, we did not even welcome, let alone ordain, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered persons into our congregations. Back then many of us thought we were doing the right thing. When it finally came, our “conversion” as a faith community was not dramatic, like that of Saul. Jesus’ voice did not suddenly stop us in our tracks. Neither did the voices of those we discriminated against. We had first to return to the Bible. And then, through dialogue and discussion we began to see the scriptures in a new light. In short, it took time for us to discern and accept that Jesus’ message of radical inclusion leaves no one out.
As Christians, we acknowledge our capacity for self-deception and confess our sins every Sunday. And as a Reformation people we believe that there is still new light to be shed from reading and pondering the holy scriptures, and prayerfully discussing them together.
We know we have not yet heard the last word. We are indeed the “God is still speaking church.”
***
The bulletin calls to mind another quote about evil being done by people who believe they are good:
"Half the harm that is done in this world is due to people who want to feel important. They don't mean to do harm-- but the harm does not interest them. Or they do not see it, or they justify it because they are absorbed in the endless struggle to think well of themselves."
— T.S. Eliot
To the extent that I've divined a "right" way to live, from my time as a scientist, as a Christian, as an activist of sorts, and as a nihilist, it is this: at any given moment, we can't ever be too secure that we are right.
This schizophrenic approach to moral philosophy and practical life is draining, and I'm afraid, I take the easy way out and lapse into dogmatic fundamentalism or apathy masquerading as a brand of relativism on issues, systems, and even life in general.
Somehow, though, the best people find a way of leaving room for doubt, or at least new evidence, and yet maintain convictions that their existing system demand of them. Placing a finite bar for rejecting a null hypothesis doesn't translate into wishy-washiness for these people. They find a way to not only be open to challenge, but to create it for themselves, revisiting their beliefs, their sources of legitimacy, and seeking out or generating new data by which to test... everything. In their hierarchy of values, being 100% right is important, but consciously unattainable; being 100% certain is in fact a negative, and also - unfortunately - unconsciously attainable; being committed and active in the efforts to build what their values dictate, however, is a very high priority, and, given success with the first two issues, results in positive outcomes.
If I can learn how to do this in my own life, well, I think I'll be ok, at least until the next crisis. :)
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