November 21, 2010 | 9:30 and 11:00 a.m.

Something to Believe In

Adam H. Fronczek
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 46
Jeremiah 23:1–6

It fortifies my soul to know
That, though I perish, truth is so:
That, howso’er I stray and range,
What’er I do, thou dost not change.
I steadier step when I recall
That, if I slip, thou dost not fall.

Hugh Clough

Today is yet another full and exciting day in the life of Fourth Presbyterian Church; there is much going on that requires attention from the pulpit. On Friday, the elected leadership of this congregation approved the next steps for the start of Project Second Century, our building project, and that certainly deserves attention and celebration today. Next week is Thanksgiving, a secular, civic holiday, of course, but with a theme of returning thanks, which always deserves attention in church. Today is a New Member Sunday, when we welcome new brothers and sisters into this congregation, and that is always a matter deserving of attention. Today is also Christ the King or Reign of Christ Sunday in the church calendar, and I want to speak to that for just a moment.

My hunch is that most of you did not know about Christ the King Sunday as you entered the church today, but this day is sort of the grand finale of the church year, looking back at all of the great things God has done in the life of Jesus Christ. Then next week, the first Sunday of Advent, we start all over again, looking forward to the birth of Jesus. Not only are many people unaware of Christ the King Sunday, but many of us even in the church don’t bother much about it and with good reason: Christ the King Sunday has only been around since the church came up with it in 1925, which is ironic, because in 1925 most western monarchies had recently fallen apart, making kingship kind of a tired metaphor for Jesus. One commentator, Tony Jones, whom I read this week, said that starting Christ the King Sunday in 1925 makes about as much sense as starting Rotary Phone Sunday in 2010 (blog.tonj.net) Still another group of people actually dislike Christ the King Sunday because it reinforces a hyper-masculine, gender exclusive, and hierarchical understanding of Christianity we’ve been fighting for years, and I appreciate that argument. Nevertheless, even with Project Second Century and Thanksgiving and New Members also on the docket, it’s hard to ignore Christ the King Sunday for at least two reasons: first, some of the most magnificent selections in the hymnal are meant for Christ the King Sunday, and we have a wonderful choir and talented organists and Tower Brass is here today. Second, monarchy must still have some kind of rhetorical power because Prince William announced his engagement this week and Calum MacLeod just will not stop talking about it. So it seemed a shame not to give a nod to Christ the King.

Adding to today’s liturgical complexity, a fourth theme is that it’s almost Advent. Yesterday the lights came up on the Avenue, the house staff fired up the electric sheep in the Garth as they do faithfully each year, and the sound of the Salvation Army bell is again among us. Finally, it is the time of year when we are nearing the important end of our annual appeal for the operating budget, and we have not yet reached our goal, and between Holiday Cards, Christmas Wishes, and Light Up a Life gifts, there are many needs to be filled as we approach Christmas, so the faithful people in Giving Ministries said to me this week, “Adam, it would be great if you could work in something about giving.”

So that’s the program for this morning. I’m sure many of you miss John Buchanan’s presence in the pulpit today; I assure you, I miss him most of all. I’ve got about twelve minutes left. Fasten your seatbelt.

Is it just me, or are the demands of this sermon something of a metaphor for the way life feels a lot of the time? I am exhausted, as I’m sure many of you are, by the competing demands, the unfulfilled responsibilities, and the unclear priorities that surround us every single day. I am tired of not completing my to-do list, I am tired of getting into bed so late at night and hearing the alarm so early each morning. I’m tired of not having enough time to call my friends or my brother and tend to my relationships, I’m tired of there not being enough money to go around for things that need to be fixed or replaced and for savings accounts that are uncomfortably small and health care expenses that are too large. I’m tired of voting for the lesser of two evils and wondering if the choice even matters or if government is nothing more than a battle between corporate lobbyists. I want some clear answers to my questions. I want to set priorities and know that they are the right ones. I want to know that there will be enough to go around. I want to find the right answer for education reform and the revival of our economy. Most of all I want to be comfortable enough to slow down and breathe. And it’s my hunch that many of you want these things too.

I want to tell you a Bible story this morning, not because I am your minister and I’m supposed to talk about the Bible, but because in the midst of all there is to do and the helplessness I sometimes feel, I struggle with my faith in the world around me and at times I experience great doubt and despair. I’m sure many of you despair as well when confronted by the deep problems in our world and in our very own lives. So I want to tell you a Bible story, because in a few of my wiser moments I have found myself clinging to the words of this dusty old book like a life preserver, because here we find a promise from God that no matter how dark and long the tunnel seems to be and no matter how confusing and elusive the escape, God is with us and will see us through.

Understanding this promise and the way it comes to us in the book of Jeremiah requires a little bit of Bible history, particularly around the matter of kings. For a long time the Israelites didn’t have a king at all. Throughout the stories of Abraham in Genesis, the stories of Moses and the escape from Egypt, during the forty years of wandering in the wilderness and all the way in to the arrival in the promised land, there were no kings. But once the Israelites are established in the promised land, they look at the nations and peoples around them and start to say, “Everyone else has a king; where is our king?” They complain, “We need a king, like other people have, for if we do not have one, who will protect us and who will go before us in battle? How can we ever be a real nation if we don’t have a king?” And God replies, “You don’t need a king. I will protect you.” And in what is perhaps the world’s oldest small-government manifesto, God continues, “And you don’t want a king. Don’t you know what kings do? If you have a king, he will send your sons off to war and he will enslave your daughters. And, you’ll have to pay lots and lots of taxes.” This is what the Bible says in 1 Samuel 8. I promise. And the people wait through what God says—it’s actually quite a long litany of reasons not to have a king—but then, as if they were not paying attention at all, the people reply, “Yeah, but we really want a king.” So God relents and gives the people what they say they want.

Their first king, Saul, is kind of a slouch, but after him comes David and then Solomon, the ones most of us think of first when someone mentions kings in the Bible. David really establishes the kingdom, and Solomon builds the temple in Jerusalem; they each have their flaws, but, to be sure, these are the glory days in Israel. Things change after David and Solomon. There are a series of kings who step into the comforts of establishment political life, and they forget the little guy, they abuse their power, and lo and behold, the kingdom falls into decline. The Assyrian Empire to the east is getting stronger and conquers the northern territory of Israel in 722 BC. Then the Babylonians, the next empire to emerge, make their move, conquering the southern territory, and they sack Jerusalem in 587 BC.

It is just before this final defeat that Jeremiah appears on the scene. Without a doubt, Jeremiah is living in a time of inadequate and unremarkable political leadership. And it wasn’t just the case that the king wasn’t inspiring; life was hard under bad kings. Heavy taxes made economic life unsteady; religion and the state were basically one and the same in Israel, so the big questions of religious life would have seemed quite threatening under a bad king. And once the city was under siege by the Babylonians, supplies of food and water were threatened, so many people didn’t even have basic needs. And the kings were largely at fault, one administration after the next. As you know, Israel wasn’t a democracy, but if it was, it would have been a culture of low voter turnout and, at best, casting your vote for the lesser of two evils. There was a tremendous hunger among the people for someone they could look up to, someone they could count on, something to believe in.

Now having given you that bit of background, let me say this about the passage in front of us this morning: It is my hunch that, for most churchgoers, the words “Woe unto you . . .” are something of a conversation stopper. My guess is that when one of us gets into the pulpit and opens the Bible and reads the words, “Woe unto you . . . ,” many of you think, “Here comes one of those fire and brimstone parts of the Bible, and if I knew that was coming this morning, I’d be having a western omelet right about now.” But now that I’ve given you this background about kingship in Israel, listen to what God has to say about the kings, in this passage where Jeremiah calls them the shepherds of God’s pasture:

Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! says the Lord. Therefore, thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, concerning the shepherds who shepherd my people: It is you who have scattered my flock, and have driven them away, and you have not attended to them. So I will attend to you for your evil doings, says the Lord.

That’s what God says to the kings. Now listen to what God says to us:

Then I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the lands where I have driven them, and I will bring them back to their fold, and they shall be fruitful and multiply. I will raise up shepherds over them who will shepherd them, and they shall not fear any longer, or be dismayed, nor shall any be missing, says the Lord.

The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king and deal wisely, and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In his days Judah will be saved and Israel will live in safety. And this is the name by which he will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.”

I will take care of you, says God. I will help you navigate the complexities of life. I will guide you as you try to decide between this and that. When, in spite of my guidance, you make a bad choice, I will forgive you. When you feel as if you are without direction and you do not know what lies ahead, I will be with you. When you cry to yourself in the darkness of night, when you pace back and forth and tear your hair out in anxiety, when you sink into the lowest depths of depression and the greatest agony you have ever faced, call on me. I will not desert you, for I am the Lord. I am what you have been seeking.

That is the promise. The challenge of authentic Christian faith is that we have to remind ourselves of this promise day in and day out, again and again and again, for the entire length of our days. We have to remind each other. And we have to remind people out there on the street. We have to do this because in no place does the Bible tell us that life will always be easy; furthermore, it does not tell us that the easy parts of life that do come along will last. This is why you are here today; this is why we come to church. Not just so that I can offer this promise to you, but so that you can remind each other about it and so that you can tell the world, and you have to do it not just with your words, but with the way you live your life. Christian faith is a choice we have to make every single day.

The Rule of St. Benedict, written in the sixth century, is the standard guide for Christian life in a monastery. One of the chapters describes how novice monks, those new to the order, were to be brought into the monastery, stripped of their ordinary clothes, and given the robe or habit of a monk. But unlike all other personal belongings, which they abandoned, that set of clothes was to be saved and hung in a wardrobe, so that every day the monk would rise from bed and be confronted by a choice: I can put on my habit, or I can put on my old clothes and leave (The Rule of St. Benedict, chapter 58). Let me be clear in connecting this choice to God’s promise: Christian life is not a sentence. It is not a prison. It is a life of real freedom—freedom to live under the brilliance of God’s promise. The free Christian life means that every day you may choose to live out the life that God has given you; every day you are free to be the person God has created you to be; you are free to pick your head up and look around in the world and see possibilities all around you; Christian life means you are never stuck. Never.

I bring this up, my friends, because Jeremiah must have wanted the same things we want. He wanted so badly for there to be someone to vote for, someone to follow, someone to go before him in battle, to watch over the best interests of the people, to stand up for the little guy, to make people feel like they were part of something important . . .

What I see in Jeremiah’s story is a people who want more than anything to have someone to follow and something to believe in that will not let them down. God gives them a promise, and we are called to pass it on. We need you to pass it on.

Despite what the economists are saying, a recession is still on and our city is under siege. There are hungry people right on this city block every day of the week, and in parts of our city that are hard to see from the Gold Coast, there are unfathomable needs. Here at Fourth Presbyterian Church, we welcome 400 students a week for tutoring. We have a counseling center that cares for people enduring psychological and emotional pain. In a few weeks we will give Christmas gifts to more than 800 children, and because we believe that every child is special, we’ll give them something they’ve asked for. Our Urban Farm on Chicago Avenue provides job training for young people who live in Cabrini-Green and want to escape poverty. And later this afternoon, just like every Sunday of the year, 150 people who need a meal will receive one in Anderson Hall. The meal is hot and well prepared; there are tablecloths and centerpieces on the table so that it doesn’t feel like just another soup kitchen, and our Deacons are there to talk with people whom most of our city ignores about their problems and their struggles and their joys. There will not be an empty seat in the place.

There are countless ways to share God’s promises through your generosity here in the church and throughout our city. You do not have to give to all of them. But if you have even a little something extra this holiday season, give it away. If you don’t have extra money but you have some time, give us your time. And most importantly, if you cannot give anything at all, that is OK; you are welcome here. And if there is something you need—whether it is food or help finding a place to live or someone to listen—let us know, because sharing God’s promise and Christ’s generosity is what we do here. Help is our stock and trade.

This week, when you gather around the Thanksgiving table, whether it is here at Fourth Church or at home with your loved ones, take a moment at the table to remember God’s promises. God has poured out goodness and beauty, forgiveness and mercy to us all. Take the time to count your blessings and say thank you. And remember, God is the one you have been looking for. And so we pray in hope with the words of the old Thanksgiving hymn:

Even so Lord quickly come, to thy final harvest home.
Gather thou thy people in, free from sorrow, free from sin.
There forever purified, in thy presence to abide.
Come with all thine angels, come, raise the glorious harvest home.

Thanks be to God. Amen.