Text: Philippians 4:4–7
Christians, and especially Lutherans, have a bad habit of treating the apostle Paul as if he were a theologian. We hear Martin Luther quoting Romans and think that Paul’s most important contribution was to explain a doctrine of justification and grace.
But Paul was before all a missionary. He was in modern terms a church planter. Without Paul there would be no churches to preach the gospel. Though the center of the Jesus movement was in Jerusalem, the churches in the countryside—the ones that Paul founded—were the ones that spread it. There may be more to the story than we know, since our main source of information about this is the book of Acts and the letters of Paul. Acts tells a story of the early Christian church in which the heroes are Paul along with Peter. And of course what we get from Paul’s letters is information about the churches Paul started. Maybe there were dozens of Pauls of which we know nothing. There were certainly other preachers who talked about Jesus. We know this because Paul sometimes disparages them.
Paul was a convert to Jesus. He started out as a kind of sheriff or bounty hunter of Christians, but he had a life-changing experience and vision which made him join the people he had been hunting down. But he did more than join them, he became their chief marketer and promoter. He could have been a soul practitioner. Instead, he became a founder of churches. Paul evidently felt that to enjoy and live out the good news that he had found, one had to be part of a worshipping community.
Perhaps there is a way to follow Jesus all by yourself, but for sure that is not what Paul did. He spent his remaining life first calling together groups of men and women and then later encouraging them to stay together when they threatened to disintegrate or got into other trouble. The church for Paul was fundamental to following Jesus. Not the wide association of all followers, Church with a capital “C,” but the small, intimate groups of people who met in each other’s houses.
People like to say that they are spiritual but not religious. What this means, I think, is that they don’t like church. They can read the Bible and pray by themselves. But they don’t like church, for a whole bunch of reasons. Why, they wonder, should anybody come to church on a Sunday morning? Let’s talk about that today.
The root word for church in Greek, the language of the New Testament, is ekklesia. Like ecclesiastical, which just signifies churchy. The word ekklesia means “assembly,” or “gathering,” and it comes from two parts which together mean “called out” (ek: from, and kaleo: call). Both these parts are important to its meaning as church.
A church is a place to which you are called. No one really has to come to church anymore. It is not expected or required to get along in society. The time when every Christian felt obligated to be part of a worshipping community is gone. That means that probably you are here for a different reason.
One way to think about this is that you have chosen to be here. You are here because you intend to be here. One thing that the diverse people of Faith church have in common is that people here are by and large serious about their faith. Not that we are somber about it, and not that we are doubt-free (if that is even possible or desirable), and not that it is always joyful or fulfilling to be here, but what happens here is important to those who are here.
But another way, or maybe a related way, to think about this that you have been called here. A call is like an invitation but a little bit more. Something with weight to it, or a little edgy. A call is a little more compelling, more insistent. It is God who calls the church into being each week. It is God who makes that insistent offer.
A call has a direction to it. This can be exciting and it can be scary. In my experience, usually both. You are called from one thing into a new thing. There are four attributes of this call to assemble that shed light on why church matters.
First, we are called from our homes. Homes for many are our base. In our homes are people we love and maybe take care of or take care of us. The chairs are comfortable and there is food in the pantry. On a cold day, or on a morning after a late night, or when leaving home means lots of paraphernalia, staying home can seem pretty great. That’s why we are called out of our homes. Leaving home on a Sunday morning is an exercise in discipline, but it is also an exercise in freedom. We are called to leave our own selves behind, in a way. To let go of the homey things, the daily things that burden, distract, and occupy us so energetically.
Second, we are called to church. There is a purpose in God’s invitation. Church is a special, particular place designed for worship. It is a place that reminds us to praise God and gives us some tools to do that. A place that provides nourishment to us in the form of readings, sermons, and sacraments. A place of forgiveness and one that does not shame. And a place in which what we most care about can be expressed out loud.
Third, we are called one by one. Each person comes by her or himself. Even when we come as couples or families. The call to you to be here is a call to you alone. You, as you stand with God at the moment. You in the life you are leading right now, this minute. God’s call is not a general one. If it were, why would you pay attention to it? You are called here because God invites you here now. You are here because you have answered it this day.
And fourth, we are called together. Church is a community of people. People who have agreed to both admonish and comfort one another. Pray for one another. Ask for help and offer it. Who can be sociable or private, funny or grave. People who will accept and love one another unconditionally as a discipline of faith. And people who, like you, have responded to a call.
Martin Luther was opposed to private communion. In his time priests visited rich people who did not want to be bothered by coming to church. Luther said that this violated Jesus’ commandment regarding the Lord’s Supper. Luther said that when Jesus said “do this” (“do this in remembrance of me”), he meant not only the eating of bread and the drinking of wine, but the gathering as well. The communion is a communion not only with God but with other disciples, other followers, of Christ. And gathering and the sharing of the meal with others were essential parts of it.
Many years ago, as the way I stood with God seemed to be changing, I went on a spiritual retreat. And while preparing for it, I wrote three questions in my journal: Who is Jesus? Who am I? and What should I do—what is my obligation to others? Those are the questions that crowd asks John in today’s Gospel reading. Those are always the questions of faith. They are important questions. Who is God? Who am I? What am I supposed to do?
The people who are drawn to this church—you and me—care about something. What happens here is important. There are a lot of great things that go on at Faith church. People like each other. We laugh quite a lot and talk even more. We pray for one another. We cook great food and do fun things. We admire and respect and have affection for each other. Those things are really good. But what makes this a church is that God is important to us, that we need to know God, and that we find this place helpful to our longing.
Paul was a pragmatist. He started churches because he thought they were the best way to spread good news, to strengthen the resolve of new followers of Jesus, and to transmit the benefits of Christ. They were spiritual and religious. As in Paul’s time, each church is a mystery and a blessing, called into being by God and both enjoyed and sustained by those who hear and respond. For that, today, we give God thanks.
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