May 30, 2010 | 8:00 a.m.

Christ and Comfort

Sarah A. Johnson
Pastoral Resident, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 8
Romans 5:1–5

Leadership comes not from the sound of a commanding voice but from the nudging of an inner voice, from our own realization that the time has come to go beyond dreaming to doing.

Madeleine K. Albright

There are certain areas of intersection between faith and life that one just ought to stay away from.

Every pastor who has ever ventured into the pulpit—and every parishioner who has ventured into the dinner party—knows that there are certain uncomfortable topics that are best left well enough alone, that when the Bible finds itself colliding with sex or hell or even divorce, it’s best to excuse one’s self for another cheese plate or at least designate that Sunday “Associate Pastor Sunday.”

During my field education residency at a church in Princeton, I always knew that preaching on “Associate Pastor Sunday” was sure to be a biblical and theological nightmare. (Of course when asked about the reason for the designated Sunday, the phrase “It’s a good experience for you!” was frequently referenced.)

We all know there are just some topics that are complicated enough that they are best left alone.

I think that faith and suffering is one of those awkward intersections that we would rather avoid, specifically the notion that we ought to suffer for our faith.

There are all kinds of examples in popular culture that want to suggest that faith and suffering go hand in hand. In the film The DaVinci Code, actor Paul Bettany plays the part of an Opus Dei monk, Silas, who cuts himself physically as punishment for his sin. In Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ, we are shown images of a tortured and mutilated Christ, the movie intended as mode of how people might discover a life of faith.

And there are plenty of examples within the church as well. The most famous work of eighteenth-century Protestant theologian Jonathan Edwards is a sermon entitled “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God (July 8, 1741). Writing during a period of religious revival known as the Great Awakening, Edwards hoped that the imagery and message of his sermon would awaken his audience to the horrific reality that he argued awaited them were they to continue without Christ. Edwards’s sermon may be a part of religious history, but its fire-and-brimstone ideas are alive and well in churches today.

In each case, this kind of theology comes dangerously close to perpetuating the myth that to be a person of faith means to suffer under the power of God. It is the kind of dangerous theology that equates faith in God with fear of God. It’s a theology that doesn’t match the law of God’s love through which scripture ought to be read and interpreted.

The flip side of all of this, of course, is that at the other end of the spectrum you can find the theological distortion often called “prosperity gospel,” where faith equals health and wealth—in other words, Joel Osteen’s gospel of “Living Your Best Life Now.”

So it seems a bit confusing when, in his letter to the Romans, Paul writes, “We boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” We boast in our sufferings? What could Paul possibly mean by this? Surely Paul wasn’t endorsing a theology of fear or claiming that a life of faith means we will get all the material possessions we ever wanted, and yet it is clear that, for Paul, somehow suffering and faith are interrelated.

What we do know about Paul’s letter to the Romans is that Paul writes for practical reasons to a congregation he neither founded nor knew personally.

In other letters—Corinthians and Galatians—Paul wrote to congregations that he had founded and knew intimately, and for that reason, he wrote letters of specific guidance, instruction, and reminder about who they were and, because of this, how they had been instructed to live. Paul’s letters to the Corinthians and the Galatians were that postcard that every parent sends to their child who is away at camp or in a circumstance that is just beyond their reach: “Dear Johnny, We love you and miss you. Remember, don’t put gum in the other campers’ hair like you did to your sister, and don’t stash candy bars under your pillow. They will melt. All our love, Mom and Dad.”

Paul’s letter to the Romans, however, contains none of the intimacy or instruction of the other letters. Instead, the letter to the church in Rome is about securing and spreading the future mission of the church to a community of people he does not know.

Paul wanted the Roman church to be a base of operations and support for the gospel of Jesus Christ in the west. But before the Roman church could provide any support, it would need to understand what it was that it was backing. You and I both know you don’t give money or time or lip service to something unless you understand what it is all about. So Paul writes to them something of a letter of recommendation for his ministry. And for Paul to recommend his ministry is to recommend the gospel for which he speaks.

Looked at through the lens of a recommendations letter, I think that Paul’s words in the book of Romans would have read something like this:

Dear Romans,

I am writing to you about the God, who out of love became flesh in the person of Jesus Christ. It is because of that gracious act, in loving God wholly, that we will find our fulfillment, the fullest life possible. In a world of longings, the grace of God is living water in the desert, bread for a soul that longs for deeper meaning. Even with all the things with which you can fill your life, this faith, this God, this grace, will fill your life beyond your wildest imaginations.

But, don’t get comfortable. The consequence of this gift of faith is a messy life. The Spirit of God will poke and prod you into unknown places. It will turn your values, your prejudices, and your comfort zone on its head. But if you give this faith a chance, those places of discomfort will bless you, giving you courage and hope for all your days.

Sincerely,
Paul

I think when Paul wrote those words about faith and suffering, he knew that if we truly listen to God, our faith cannot help but lead us into uncomfortable places. “Do you want to live a full life?” he was asking them. “Well, I’m offering you that chance. But you will have to be willing to turn your life and how you live it completely upside down.” “This is not a place to get comfortable,” Paul would say. “It’s a place to be transformed.”

In a sermon at the Festival of Homiletics in Nashville, Tennessee, former Duke University chaplain and Methodist bishop Will Willimon, spoke about a conversation that he had had with a Duke student about chapel attendance. Willimon had spent his time at Duke working to get more students to attend Sunday services at the campus chapel. He couldn’t understand why more weren’t coming.

The student told Willimon, “Hey, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. After all, I’ve heard you preach, and I think that you are doing pretty darn great to get the numbers that you are.” (Well here’s a real gem of a student, Willimon thought.)

But then the student also told Willimon, “Look, these kids at Duke are smart. In fact, these students are some of the best and the brightest, and they don’t want to come to church because they’re smart enough to know that if they do, their lives are only going to be more unmanageable and miserable than they already are.” Willimon said that he wasn’t sure he had ever heard a better definition of the gospel than that.

A university chaplain once told me of an encounter she had with a graduating senior, a young woman whom she had taught. After congratulating the student on her degree, the chaplain commented that it would be nice to meet the young woman’s parents. “Oh no,” replied the girl. “My mother isn’t exactly your biggest fan.” “Well, why not?” the chaplain asked. “I’ve never even met her.” “True,” the young woman said, “but because of you and your classes, I have decided not to attend graduate school but to go to Haiti with a Doctors without Bordersprogram. She thinks it’s a waste of my opportunities and education. Best stay away from my mother.”

There is a couple that I know who in the past couple of months have begun to realize that there is a real need for more food resources in their community. The downturn in the economy and the growing gentrification of the city has left many people in their neighborhood who have not previously needed help looking for resources. So this couple is working to start a food pantry in their neighborhood. This is not an easy thing to do. It will, of course, require their time and financial resources and also their ability to tap into the financial recourses of others.

But even more than that, it will mean the discomfort of those who don’t want a food pantry in their predominately white, middle-class neighborhood. It will mean the pressure of government leaders who don’t want the people in their constituency unhappy and who also think that food pantries are things that are to be kept at the outskirts of the city. This couple will be highly unpopular.

We boast in our sufferings,” wrote Paul, “because suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, character produces hope.”

I recently met a seventy-year-old woman who decided that if she was going to start living her life—truly living it—it was up to her to make the effort and take the initiative. So at seventy years old, when she could have been content to stay put with the friends and neighbors that she had, she started knocking on the doors of neighbors she didn’t know, introducing herself, sometimes baking cookies, or inviting them over for a cup of tea, and in each case welcoming them to the neighborhood.

For many of us, taking the initiative on something like this is uncomfortable if not a downright terrifying thing to do.

I like to think that somewhere there is documented evidence that coffee hour is the scariest place in church. When I first came to Fourth Church, I would have to make five-minute darting passes through Anderson Hall just to actually make it through coffee hour. It is hard to walk into a room of people whom you don’t know, and it’s hard to introduce yourself to someone new, to reach beyond the circle of friends whom you already know.

But in a society that teaches us how to get deeper into ourselves, the gospel claims that we belong to one another. We reach out to those we do and don’t know—especially those from whom we are most deeply separated—in ways that push us to grow and be community in new and different ways.

Maybe this morning, as you hear Paul’s words, you can feel the gospel poking and prodding you to places of greater suffering. Maybe you are being poked and prodded to discover broken places in your neighborhood that have previously gone unnoticed. Maybe you are being poked and prodded to your use your vacation time and money this summer not to go to the beach, but to go on a mission trip. Maybe you are being poked and prodded not just to manage your stocks but to figure out how your business can change the world. Maybe you are being poked and prodded to meet new neighbors outside the circles in which you currently travel.

This morning, try introducing yourself to someone new, and if that is not your gift, write a note of welcome to a visitor sitting next to you in the pew. It might seem small—a lot smaller than going to Haiti or starting a food pantry—but I think it’s a start to breaking down the barriers and inviting ourselves into uncomfortable places where we might just have opportunity to grow and be blessed in ways we never could have imagined.

Pushing our boundaries—that is what the gospel does: pushes our boundaries outward into the possibility of living more deeply, more authentically.

Today is Trinity Sunday, the Sunday following Pentecost, in which the movement of the Spirit of God is celebrated in the church. Today, on Trinity Sunday, we celebrate the presence of the Trinity, one God in three persons. What is important about the celebration of this celebration is that the God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer, has not and will not leave the church to its own devices.

The Spirit of God is alive and well and always leading us into places of greater discomfort and greater blessing.

Maybe that’s the reason why we don’t take out the pews and install La-Z-Boy recliners in the church sanctuary. Maybe, just maybe, those hard wooden church pews help the Holy Spirit keep us on our toes, keep us shifting uncomfortably in our seats, a reminder of God’s ongoing work in the world and in our lives.

We boast in our sufferings,” wrote Paul, “because suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope.”

May we know that suffering, that endurance, that character, and that hope.

All thanks be to God. Amen.