When the Saints Go Dancing In
Yonce Shelton
Community of Christ (Washington, DC)
March 16, 2008 (Palm Sunday)

Lectionary readings:    Isaiah 50:4-9a
                                                Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29
                                                Philippians 2:5-11
                                                Matthew 21:1-11

Prayer of the Day:

Shall I abandon the comforts and benefits of my home … sail on the face of the deep where no riches or fame or weapons protect you, and nobody honours your name? … Have I the courage to leave the familiar and journey into the unknown?  To journey beyond the way I have prayed, the life I have lived, the sensible and the secure? (St. Brendan)

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What is your definition of a saint?  Let’s share a few. 

Now I want to share some thoughts that have struck me over the past months.  Gordon Cosby of The Church of the Saviour told me that a saint is “one of large leisure” – someone whose sense of time and schedule allows them to be available to unexpected opportunities and needs.  In the 1970 book about the Community of Christ’s first five years together – Dancing in Steps of Change – authors John Schramm and David Anderson note that “few are called to be saints” (20).  Norman Tucker, a Community member, is quoted as describing his leisure hours as “being freed up for emergencies”, which, according to the authors, “expresses the sense of openness and availability that is necessary for mission.”  Lastly, the well-known Trappist monk Thomas Merton said, “For me to be a saint means to be myself” (Becoming Who You Are, James Martin ix).

Lent is about identity and journey, and usually results in each of us taking a personal journey “from point A to point B,” as Dunstan put it in his Ash Wednesday homily.  You have embraced the wilderness – whatever that means for you – and have walked a rough road toward an end point.  You are now urging, as the Psalmist does, “Open to me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter through them and give thanks to the Lord.”  But, you have not done this alone.  You have done this in Community.  Not only does the Community provide support for your individual journey, but, as we have said over and over during Lent, the Community as a whole is on a journey of transition. 
But Lent takes on new meaning when 200 of our mostly low-income neighbors are displaced by a five alarm apartment building fire.  A real wilderness that will not end at Easter has just been thrust on our neighbors.  That’s the kind of thing that moves us from theory to practice when considering what it means to be saintly.  As we think about Lent, identity, growth, and mission, we must struggle as individuals and as a Community with how this time in Mount Pleasant relates to the journey Jesus and his disciples made.

Here we are at Palm Sunday.  Earlier we processed through this building shouting “Hosanna” and waving palms.  We are celebrating Jesus’ arrival in Jerusalem; his passage through the “gates of righteousness” or gates of life.  We are happy because we know the story.  We know this is a key part of Jesus’ journey that makes his death and resurrection possible.  Just as we look forward and see the glory of the Passion, we must not forget to look back.  We can’t understand Holy Week without reflecting on Jesus being “led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.  He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was famished (Matthew 4:1-2); or his insistence on going back to Judea even as his “disciples said to him, ‘Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?’" (John 11:6-10).  It is only after Jesus has struggled with Satan, the world, his family, himself, and – most importantly – God that he is prepared to enter Jerusalem and set the final chapters in motion.  His journey is one of struggle to understand who he is and what God requires of him. 

The word vocation has been used much in this Community over the past months, and I’m not sure there is a better word for Lent.  Some of us have been reading The Last Temptation of Christ (by Nikos Kazantzakis) during Lent, in large part because it is a book that gets to the heart of discernment and vocation.  Try to set aside any knee-jerk reactions based on the controversy surrounding this book and movie, and listen to what Kazantzakis says in his prologue. 
       
“The struggle between God and [hu]man breaks out in everyone, together with the longing for reconciliation.  Most often this struggle is unconscious and short-lived.  A weak soul does not have the endurance to resist the flesh for very long.  It grows heavy, becomes flesh itself, and the contest ends.  But among responsible [humans], [humans] who keep their eyes riveted day and night upon the Supreme Duty, the conflict between flesh and spirit breaks out mercilessly and may last until death. …

If we are able to follow [Jesus] we must have a profound knowledge of his conflict, we must relive his anguish: his victory over the blossoming snares of the earth, his sacrifice of the great and small joys of men and his ascent from sacrifice to sacrifice, exploit to exploit, to martyrdom’s summit, the Cross. …

This book is not a biography; it is the confession of every [hu]man who struggles.  In publishing it I have fulfilled my duty, the duty of a person who struggled much, was much embittered in his life, and had many hopes.  I am certain that every free [hu]man who reads this book, so filled as it is with love, will more than ever before, better than ever before, love Christ.” (1-4)

I have been moved by this book and share this today because it speaks to relationship with God, but also to the need for community.  Vocation is the connection.  Who we were created to be is central.  How we support each other is essential.  Vocation probably isn’t the first thing on the minds of the tenants of 3145 Mount Pleasant Street.  But it must be on our minds if we are to be of help to them.    
Kazantzakis is part of the larger body of Christ trying to make sense of the Gospel.  That’s not so different from what we do in bible studies, homilies, or casual conversations when we ask “what if…?”, “do you think…?”, and more.  In addition to offering an interpretation of what might have been going on with Jesus between the lines of the Gospels, he focuses on how the disciples grow in community with Jesus and each other.  His writing presents a moving picture of how they might have discovered who they were because of Jesus, what that meant for mission in the world, and how we can do the same.  Jesus was not only struggling with his own identity, but also trying to help the disciples with theirs, which needed to include commitment, humility, service, and companionship.    
In his book In the Name of Jesus, Henri Nouwen talks about a time late in life when his practice became to travel to speaking engagements with one of the mentally handicapped members of the L’Arche Community in which he lived.  Nouwen says that it took him a while, in doing this, to realize “the full truth of Jesus’ words, ‘Where two or three meet in my Name, I am among them’” (Matthew 18:20).  At one speaking event, his L’Arche companion took the microphone just after he finished, told a humorous story, and offered words of thanks to the attendees.   Nouwen then realized not only what he was learning in this form of relationship and community, but also that “most likely much of what I said would not be long remembered, but that Bill and I doing it together would not be easily forgotten” (101).

I can’t read today’s Gospel without thinking of this story.  Why did Jesus send two disciples to get a donkey and colt (Matthew 21:1) that probably could not have been too hard to handle?  Because it wasn’t only about the task at hand and the outcome.  It was — and is — also about the journey, how it is shared, and how that shapes the travelers. Jesus knew this, even if he didn’t know everything about his own journey and had to learn about his identity along the way. During his human experience he accepted that he was a leader — a shepherd.  The disciples needed this as much as Jesus needed to be led by God.  Nouwen says,

“When the members of a community of faith cannot truly know and love their shepherd, shepherding quickly becomes a subtle way of exercising power over others and begins to show authoritarian and dictatorial traits.  The world in which we live — a world of efficiency and control – has no models to offer to those who want to be shepherds in the way Jesus was a shepherd” (62).        

The questions for our Community — for any community — then become: What is the model we offer?  When we are headed for “gates of righteousness,” but the city within is “in turmoil,” as Jerusalem was (Matthew 21:10), how do we prepare to stay true to the journey?  How do we prepare for what happens when the crowds shouting Hosanna disappear?  The answer: we name the challenges, risks, and opportunities; we identify the “gates;” and we keep walking together even though the road will be rough and the process scary.

A member or two of this Community said during our last Community meeting that they were product, not process, people.  They asked for patience with them in long discussions.  Fair enough.  But I think community calls us to think more deeply about how we define product.  The outcomes of the faith journey are with us in every second, every breath, every glance, every smile, every conversation, every agenda item.  In fact, that is the point made in Dancing in Steps of Change (remember, in 1970!) with regard to theological debates.  In a discussion with a group of college students, John Schramm and a Roman Catholic priest friend argued that “the Kingdom does not depend on the outcome of any given issue” and “all of life is in process” (49).  As the authors go on to say, this in no way argues that theological foundations and principles are not important, but that we must explore the constant tension between theology and community.

Consider these passages I came across recently from an obscure source:

“For well over a year the Community went through a long period of agonizing self-appraisal in which we struggled with our own self-identity and structures.  We argued over what part sensitivity training should play, the role of the priors and small groups, and their relationship to the larger corporate community and the decision-making process.  For close to a year the Community was in a constant crisis.  Different proposals for restructuring were brought forward, groups suddenly seemed to become factions, friendships were strained and encounters with others were frequently painful.”

And just a bit further on:

“She [a member of the Community] called on the Community to ‘rejoice in our growth’ while recognizing that ‘we must continue to struggle to be more than just another small church.’  And she suggested a theme…: ‘I am very optimistic about the Community.  The struggle for a structure and the struggle to understand one another is a vital sign of life.’  Inspired by the children’s story The Velveteen Rabbit, she added, ‘the struggle might rub off some fur, and we might get shabby, and our eyes might fall off, but we can’t be ugly except to those who don’t understand.’” 

Anyone recognize that?  Pages 74 and 75 in Dancing in Steps of Change, featuring Mary Schramm.  That inspires me, if we ever write another book, to want to contribute a chapter on “it’s all product” to go alongside the one about Walt’s mantra of “it’s all gift”!

We have been in transition before.  We have journeyed a long way.  But, just as identity and vocation are not only about individual progress, Community growth cannot be only about our community.  It’s not just about us.  We shoulder a great burden in understanding where we are headed — and what that means for others.  Until this week’s fire, that challenge made me think about how to use our 42 year history and track record to help other small, nontraditional churches succeed.  And I thought there might be ways to reach and cultivate young leaders of faith with more relationship and connection among churches.  Now, I wonder how those ideas can converge with the needs due to the fire.

What other “gates” do we have in our sights?  How much control do we have — or should we want — in deciding what those gates are?  Remember, after the gates is more struggle, testing, and pain.  How saint-like can we be in strengthening this Community and Mount Pleasant?  That depends on how available and open to God’s calling and the needs around us we are.  I believe, as Isaiah says, “The Lord GOD has given [us] the tongue of a teacher, that [we] may sustain the weary…” (50:4).  Can we continue to dance in the steps of change and pain?  Yes, if we “stand up together” with God (50:8). 
           
When people would come to see Mother Teresa and her work she would tell them to “find your own Calcutta” (Martin 85).  In the same vein, Korczak Ziolkowski, who by himself in 1947 – with only tools, a small jackhammer, and gas compressor – started carving what eventually will be the 641 by 563 feet Crazy Horse Memorial, said: “Every [hu]man has a mountain.  I’m carving mine.”  In other words, as Bill says in his Lenten book reflection, “Forget the Joneses”.  And don’t worry about what others think.  It has been said that “Nine-tenths of our suffering is caused by others not thinking so much of us as we think they ought.”

What is our Calcutta?  Our mountain?  It’s not easy becoming who we are.  It wasn’t easy for Jesus or his disciples.  But we are called to walk the road one step at a time.  At times we drag our feet, at times we dance, and at times we stop and cry.  But we must move from point A to point B.  And we’ll know soon enough what is required to get to C, D, E and the rest. 
It’s a wide road.  There are many unforeseen events and rabbit trails before we reach those gates.  On that road is where we define who we are. As John Schramm and David Anderson say,

“The Christian, especially one engaged in mission, must learn that theology is basic to responding to the world.  This raises the fundamental question of the source of a community’s theology.  Out of what kind of crucible is it shaped?  If theology is indeed our understanding of the faith, then a community forms and hammers out its own theology.  It is not a closed, static system of truth which is inherited.  Theology, in this case, originates on the streets, at the parties, at civic association meetings and out of the daily newspapers” (48). 

The street — this one right out here — needs us.  Can we say YES — even before Easter — to being saintly in ways that will help us and our neighbors?  There is no fog covering that mountain.  We see the challenges. Carving it, climbing it, strengthening it, whatever — that is our theology for now.       

Amen. 

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Song of the Day:  “Leaves Don’t Drop, They Just Let Go” by Carrie Newcomer (2008):

The truth I knew when I was eight.
My dad swam the length of Spirit Lake.
It must have been a million miles.
This I knew was true.

My mother sang while hangin' clothes.
Her notes weren't perfect heaven knows.
But heaven opened anyway.
And this I knew was true.

Chorus:
Leaves don't drop they just let go,
And make a place for seeds to grow.
Every season brings a change,
A tree is what a seed contains,
To die and live is life's refrain.

I left her with some groceries,
Said, "Check the oil and call me please.”
She said “Hey, ma I'll be just fine."
This I knew was true.

Chorus

I've traveled through my history,
From certainty to mystery.
God speaks in rhyme in paradox.
This I know is true.

And finally when life is through,
I'm what I am not what I do.
It comes down to you and your next breath,
And this I know is true.