October 17, 1999 | 9:30 and 11:00 a.m.

The Treasures of Fourth Church

John Wilkinson
Executive Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Matthew 6:19–21

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Matthew 6:21

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A friend of mine once said, earnestly, that stewardship is not about money. I nodded in earnest agreement. After a brief pause, he laughed and said, OK, stewardship is about money. He was right on both counts, of course.

As such, this sermon is more topical than a usual Sunday morning conversation, and, in this case it is more personal, more autobiographical as well. I am hopeful that the autobiographical snapshots will connect with some touchpoints in your own experience. And to those of you who might be visiting this morning, I hope the specificity of the Fourth Church story will resonate with your own faith journey, your own church experience, and that you will carry away a renewed sense of stewardship. And send us five percent.

I’d also like to express my deep appreciation and gratitude for what really is an extraordinary church staff serving on your behalf. It is one of the treasures of this place, and as a sampling of staff people pitches in this morning, know that they represent a team of energetic, committed leaders who help to nurture the vision of this place.

* * *

Let us pray. Silence in us any voice but your own, gracious God, and in that silence open our hearts to your word, that we might trust and so to obey. For Christ’s sake. Amen.

* * *

My third grade church school teacher was named Bonnie. Since I eventually married a woman named Bonny, I would never say that her name was an unfortunate one. But to a third grade boy, Bonnie’s name was a veritable gold mine. Jimmy Osborne and I would cleverly ask, “Hey Bonnie, how’s Clyde?” It was so funny, such sophisticated humor, that we were baffled when Bonnie didn’t laugh. Then, of course, were the weekly serenades of “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean.”

One week, after we had been asked to shape up for the millionth time, Bonnie finally had enough. It was the first, and last time, I was ever sent to the hall. It was a mini-scandal, the pastor’s son thusly punished. I was stunned. My younger sister was elated. The next Sunday I humbly returned to church school. Didn’t say a word. Neither did my teacher. Everything was all right. I was welcomed back.

Later, in high school, I had a series of tremendous church school teachers. They accepted me for who I was. I remember one in particular. We disagreed on everything. But we liked each other, cared for each other. At one point, I suffered a setback in my high school life. I was cut from a team, a devastating moment. That teacher redeemed the experience for me, encouraging me, simply being there. It was a great gift, one that becomes more valuable and precious to me as the years go by.

(John Cairns, Dean of the Academy for Faith and Life, and Allison Canade, Director of Family Ministry):
This story connects to stories in the life of this church family. Each week for a growing number of children, youth and adults the opportunity to join with others at Fourth Church in an exciting learning experience is giving shape to lives, perspective to decisions, and support for the living of each new day. Let us tell you about how that is happening. It is happening because of who we are:

> We are a community that is discovering anew the joy, as well as the importance, of Christian growth, working our way into an understanding of what it means to be disciples of Jesus Christ.
> We are a children’s Sunday School program whose numbers are so large we are spilling out of Westminster House to set up classrooms in other areas of the church.
> We are a Day School enriching the lives of pre-school children in morning and afternoon programs during the week.
> We are a community of families responding to our call as parents, nurturing our children’s faith, participating in the fellowship of this community, parenting education classes and Sunday School.
> We are a Children’s Center caring for children in a nurturing environment while parents work.
> We are three children’s choirs joining voices in song to lift the community in worship.
> We are a people who presents children’s Bibles to every kindergartner so they can be nurtured in their faith with their families by hearing and sharing stories at home.
> We are a vibrant, new youth group for middle and junior high students who gather for times of fellowship and mission work, growing together, exploring the world around us and the places where our faith intersects our lives.
> We are an ever stronger senior high fellowship, 50 of us who participated in rehabilitating houses on a Navajo Indian reservation in Arizona.
> We are a Sunday school teaching staff of over 35, responding to the call to our growing ministry, spending time each week to share the stories of our faith, our people, our tradition with the children of our congregation.
> We are 200 folks now enrolled in the Academy for Faith and Life courses on Sunday mornings and Thursday evenings, with some of the best instructors in Chicago regularly sharing insights into ancient texts and contemporary dilemmas as we equip ourselves for more faithful discipleship.
> We are a people in the midst of a cultural shift as Fourth Church becomes a place where we study as well as worship.
> WE INTEND TO BE better able to share with family, friends and colleagues an understanding of who we are and what we believe … and to be able to act on that knowledge in our day to day lives.

* * *

Now for a more serious one. I remember walking home from school one spring day in my eighth grade year. My mother was sitting at the kitchen table. “Your father’s been in an accident,” she said. Thank goodness we were young enough not to understand everything. Three Presbyterian ministers in a car, going to the funeral of a colleague’s father. One dead, a beloved friend, one shaken up a little, my father somewhere in the middle, with three months of hospitalization and convalescence to follow.

Now the point. It happens nearly every time I attend a larger gathering of the Presbyterian church. We all wear the ubiquitous name tags, and after awhile people take a guess at who I am. “Aren’t you Ken Wilkinson’s son?” I am, I say. “How is he doing now?” He’s doing all right, I say. “Well, give him my greetings. We prayed for him all those years ago.”

Prayer, and the spirit of care that undergirds it, is the most remarkable thing. It works. That is not to say that it is the easy solution to human ailment. That would be too clean and would not be true to our experience. But it is a treasure because it joins us to the family, to the community. It allows you to transport your hurting from a place of despair to a place of solidarity. It lets you know that when we face what we neither anticipate nor desire, that we do not stand alone. God stands with us. Our friends stand with us. Friends who care.

Later, in my new nuclear family, the message came through again, with incredible power, and even this past week, as I faced (unexpected and successful) gall bladder surgery, the words “You’re in my prayers,” and the faithfulness of the family of God standing with me, made all the difference once again.

(Carol Allen, Associate Pastor for Congregational Care):
From its beginning, “church” is a people formed in the heart of God, the God they see in Jesus Christ, the Treasure at the Heart of Life, the heart who “rejoices with those who rejoice and mourns with those who mourn.”

The Reformed Presbyterian Church teaches people to think critically about the faith, its foundation in the scriptures and the issues of the day. Our tradition motivates and equips men and women to care for the common good and to engage in social action.

When the church turns to care for the souls of its members and friends, it turns to the treasure of the inner life, the place where God’s spirit replenishes the energy that is vital to wholesome loving and working.

When it cares in personal and intimate ways for its members, the church learns to see God, the Treasure at the Heart of Life, alive in the daily details.

At Fourth Church, this care is embodied in a variety of volunteers, men and women, who mediate Christ’s fierce tenderness, looking past any shame or doubts to affirm the worth and giftedness of persons created in God’s image.

From welcoming visitors at coffee hour, praying with those in hospitals and nursing homes, offering a deeply listening ear and words of encouragement and hope to persons coping with life’s changes and transitions, teaching city kids a skill that serves as a wholesome outlet for youthful energy, ministering to the needs of persons and their families living with HIV/AIDS, befriending persons whose world has narrowed through many losses and the limitations that come with getting older, Fourth Church cares.

Through its Communities of Care, Stephen Ministers, Caring Connectors, Board of Deacons, and a myriad of persons, young and old, who offer Christ-like love and hospitality to newcomers and old timers, Fourth Church cares. From morning prayers to evening support groups, from baptizing babies to memorializing the dead, Fourth Church cares. Through fellowship groups, retreats where the links between life and faith are explored, and one on one weekly pastoral conversations, Fourth Church cares.

That means there is room for you and me in church. We can give and receive care there.

* * *

At one point I remember that the Zanesville Times-Recorder, our local newspaper, carried a picture of my father. What’s this about, I asked. It turned out that he was serving as chair of a bond levy campaign for our public school system. I remember a rally one Sunday afternoon at my elementary school, a moment of high embarrassment. After a round of band music and speeches, my father made a speech and introduced our principal. In my grade school eyes, this principal was pretty close to being The Terminator, making Attila the Hun look like Barney. And my father kissed her on the cheek. I could not have been any happier at that moment than had the earth simply swallowed me up.

But the bigger issue was why. Not why would he kiss my principal on the cheek, but why would a Presbyterian minister do such a thing? His answer then was fairly simple. For the children. For the sake of the community.

The answer now would be no less simple. For the children. For the sake of the community. Because we believe God is sovereign, that God cares and wants made right every aspect of our human life. Because to be a person of faith is to be a good citizen, to realize that the gospel is not about the four walls of the church and an hour once a week, but about all of it, and especially about the ways we humans order ourselves and govern ourselves and tend to one another.

We are called to be in the messy world of the boardroom and market place and town square and school house. We are called to do two things at once. We are called to reach out in very hands-on ways to those in need—young and old, homeless and hungry, poor, lost, neglected, excluded. And we are called to build, to transform, to imagine this world, this community, according to God’s vision that is filled with justice and peace and righteousness and reconciliation.

(Dana Ferguson, Associate Pastor for Mission):
A day of mission and ministry at Fourth Church. . .
Carol and Dan arrive on their way to work for a session at the Lorene Replogle Counseling Center. They came to the center feeling that their once cherished relationship had simply become two people taking care of responsibilities. Through their counseling sessions, they are discovering again what they originally loved about one another, developing skills that will enable them to continue to enjoy their marriage, and giving a grand gift to their family. Sarah arrives here at Fourth Church from her nearby apartment where she lives alone. She attends the Center for Older Adults exercise class and then enjoys a lecture on Chicago architecture. Lunch is spent with her COA friends whom she calls “her family.”

Latrice attends the morning session of the GED class held at the Center for Whole Life in Cabrini-Green. She works hard, supported by the class teacher and a volunteer from Fourth Church. She has plans to work in a hospital so that she can help people. Later in the afternoon her son Marcus boards a bus to attend tutoring at Fourth Church. In addition to one on one tutoring, he is learning about writing a resume and proper workplace attire and conduct in the job training program.

Calvin arrives at Fourth Church tired and cold and hungry. He suffers from mental illness and lives on the streets. He is greeted by a staff member of the Elam Davies Social Service Center. Calvin warms up with a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Calvin and the staff member work on a plan to get him to a doctor, find a place in a shelter and get him involved in the church’s Forward Step Addiction Program. He leaves feeling cared for and equipped with tools to tackle the complicated problems of his life.

At the evening meeting of the Mission Committee, funds are designated to provide heating for the Mission School in Albania where children sit in the winter in cold classrooms in coats and hats and gloves if they have them. The Mission Committee also hears plans for mission trips in the year 2000 to Honduras and Guatemala and Cuba and Northern Ireland.

A day of mission and ministry at Fourth Church…tough issues greeted by God’s people with God’s love and justice and reconciliation.

* * *

A gift of my childhood was having free reign of the church. One Sunday morning, minutes before worship, I was in the back of the sanctuary, rummaging through a storage cabinet. I was about eight. I discovered a small package and proceeded to investigate. The label said SMELLING SALTS. So I smelled them, not just a whiff, but a deep, deep inhalation. A moment or two later I woke up, gazing heavenward at a group of ushers whose faces registered deep concern and barely concealed amusement. I remember that because I remember how at home I felt in that sanctuary.

I remember a sermon I heard as a child, eulogizing Roberto Clemente, Pittsburgh Pirate right fielder and my hero, who had just died in a plane crash on a mission of mercy. I knew then that sermons could be thoughtful and biblical and engaging.

The ritual of Doxology and the Lord’s Prayer, the gathering and departing, the singing and hunkering down for the sermon, the people, friend and stranger, that worship journey which takes us to old places and new places and transformed places. That is what I remember and what I cherish now.

* * *

Well, your fair question at this point might be what do these stories have to do with anything, especially stewardship. These stories, and even more directly the testimonies of my colleagues and friends, give witness to the treasures of the church, why we are here.

Jesus gets it. He understands the nature of our commitments, our allegiances, the pull and tug of life. On the tail of the Lord’s prayer in Matthew’s gospel, he tells us with clarity what we already know: that the treasures of the moment, whether they be the easily critiqued ones of consumerism and lifestyle or the more subtle ones of time and energy and talent, those treasures will disappear. Not maybe: they will disappear. They will be stolen by the thieves of trendiness or the market or self-deception, they will be consumed by the rust and moths of cynicism and boredom.

But Jesus also knows that our hearts are where our treasures are. Our living follows our commitment, de facto, and so all of our best intentions are subverted unless we look deeply into our own hearts, our hungry hearts, our searching hearts, our longing hearts—and locate the places of our hearts so that our treasures will follow. That is why stewardship is about money and about so much more than money.

So, turn a leaf on our stewardship banners this October. Make a pledge. Make faithful and careful and thoughtful decisions about your money, but make bold ones as well. This place needs to pay its bills, buy curriculum, support the Presbyterian church, print bulletins, give money away to people in need, paint the walls, grow programs, all the things that make the church such a place of hope, a place of resurrection, a treasure.

John Calvin’s Geneva Catechism asks a question about the church. The answer to the question is to say that the church “is the company of believers whom God has ordained and chosen for life eternal.” The catechism continues: “Is it necessary to believe this article?” “Yes, indeed, unless we want to make the death of Christ and everything that has been rehearsed so far of no effect. For the fruit which proceeds from it is the church.”

That is why stewardship is not about the maintenance of an institution, but about the sustenance of that vision. Cups for coffee hour, sod for the Garth, Xeroxes and email and, even, gasp, ministers’ salaries, simply are vehicles for the verbs we are considering this day, for the true treasures of learning and caring and serving and worshiping.

Last week John Buchanan spoke of talents, of investing your creativity and energy and imagination and love, investing responsibly and faithfully, investing your lives. This morning is about to what end we will invest, about the treasures of the church, the treasure that is the church and the location of our hearts.

One more story. It happened in, of all places. St. Nicholas Roman Catholic Church in Zanesville, Ohio, where the pastor of Central Presbyterian Church, namely my father, was preaching at an ecumenical prayer service on a Saturday night. My father stood up and said “in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit,” and 700 or 800 people crossed themselves. I was impressed. He certainly didn’t have that kind of control over his three kids.

And it got better. We sang a hymn:

“The church’s one foundation, is Jesus Christ her Lord,
She is his new creation by water and the word.”

I will never forget that moment. The “mystic sweet communion,” as the hymn suggests, flowing through that sanctuary. And I fell in love with the church. I didn’t know all of those people. We would probably never gather in that configuration again. I might not even like some of them, or agree with them on much of anything. But they loved me and I loved them, because God loved all of us and called us together and keeps calling us together.

It doesn’t make the church anything more than it is, but it makes the church exactly what it is, what B.A. Gerrish calls “the crucial place where faith and community are held together.” Roman Catholic historian Alfred Loisy observed: “Jesus foretold the kingdom, and it was the Church that came.” (Christian Century, October 13, 1999, p. 971.)

So think about the treasure of the church, when it comforted you, when it challenged you, when it welcomed you, when it ticked you off, when it taught you, when it cared for you, when it awed you, when it moved you beyond yourself to something bold and new. Think what it means for you in these days, what it means for our children, what it means for this community, for this city. Think about the excitement of possibility, the hope of the journey, your affection for the people sitting near you, what they mean to you.

That we might tell stories, that we might take stock of the treasures and celebrate them, that we might then so listen to our hearts.

Now to the one who by the power at work within us is able to do far more abundantly than all we can ask or imagine, to God be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Sermon © Fourth Presbyterian Church