Sermon — September 19, 2021
The Rev. Greg Johnston
“Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.” (James 4:8)
Over the past sixty years or so, religious life in America has been in sharp decline, by every measure. It’s true of religious identity: when asked what their religion is, fewer Americans every year answer “Catholic” or “Protestant” or “evangelical” or “Jewish,” while more and more answer “nothing in particular.” The same goes for religious affiliation: fewer and fewer Americans are formal or informal members of any particular church or synagogue. The trend is even starker for religious attendance: every year, fewer Americans attend church regularly, and the ones who do, do so less frequently. Total attendance in the Episcopal Church drops something like 25% every decade, and we’re not alone; denominations from the Catholic Church to the Southern Baptist Convention to mainline Protestants like us report a decreasing engagement with religion over time.
But this decrease in religiosity hasn’t meant an increase in atheism, in active disbelief in God. Self-identified “atheists” have remained a tiny fraction in surveys, even as the number of people whose religion is “nothing in particular” has exploded. The number of Americans who say they believe in God or pray regularly has stayed steady, even as religious life has collapsed. And in fact, Pew Research suggests that, to quote one of their headline findings, “feelings of spirituality are on the rise.” More Americans today say that they feel a deep sense of spiritual peace and wellbeing or of wonder about the universe at least once a week than did a couple decades ago. So while “religion” declines, “spirituality” is on the rise.
Of course, I have a vested interest in religiosity, so this is sad news for me. But I don’t think it’s necessarily all bad. People really are searching for something, and that’s great! They’re just not finding it in the church.
The final verse of our reading from the Epistle of James this morning almost sounds as if it’s crafted for these spiritual seekers. Do you seek “wisdom from above” that is “pure…peaceable, gentle…full of mercy and good fruits?” (3:17) “Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.” (4:8)
But… how? James doesn’t tell us where to go when we’re seeking after God. James doesn’t tell us how exactly to draw near. But we’re in luck! Because Jesus does.
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus again teaches his disciples about what it is to come, about how exactly the rest of this story will go. Jesus teaches them, yet again, that it will not be a triumphant journey to take the throne in Jerusalem. Instead, he “is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” (Mark 9:31) But the disciples don’t understand, and they turn to much more pressing concerns: Which one of us is the greatest?
Jesus is disgusted. “If anyone wants to be first,” he literally says, “he will be last of all.” (Mark 9:35) Jesus has come to turn the world upside down, and the one who tries to puff himself up now will soon be deflated. And then comes the most remarkable part. “He took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, ‘Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.’” (9:36–37)
Jesus tell the disciples that he will die, and then that he will rise again. Jesus lives now, today. And this is incredible news for all of us who’re seeking after God. Jesus lives, and we can meet him face to face. But his resurrected life is not like ordinary life. He rises, and walks around among them, but only for forty days; and then he ascends into heaven.
So yes, maybe Jesus is alive. Maybe we can meet him face to face. But… where? We’re left with that same question from James: How exactly do we “draw near to God”?
As far as I know, there are only four places where Jesus promises his disciples they can find him after he’s gone.
Let’s start with the most obvious, at least for any Catholics. At the Last Supper, Jesus tells the disciples he will be present in the Eucharist: “This is my Body,” he says; “This is my Blood.” (Mt 26:26-28; Mk 14:22-24, Lk 22:17-20, 1 Cor 11:23-25) In Holy Communion, we encounter and receive Jesus. He is present in a mysterious but real way. The bread and the wine are not, in our tradition, mere reminders of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. Jesus is really present here, and we receive him here, and carry him around with us all day long. Cool.
Number two, let’s pick another church-y one. In Matthew 18, Jesus teaches his disciples about forgiveness and prayer, and then he promises them, “where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” (Matthew 18:20) This applies to a Thursday-evening Centering Prayer group or to a visit to a sick church friend, to a Vestry or committee meeting or to Sunday-morning worship. Wherever even just two or three of us gather in Jesus’ name, he is in the midst of us.
Third, Jesus gives us a promise and warning, this time in Matthew 25. On the last day, he says, the Son of Man will separate the sheep from the goats, some to eternal punishment and some to eternal reward. And when they ask him why, he’ll answer: “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me… Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:35-36, 40 NRSV) He doesn’t tell us to be kind to the hungry and thirsty and sick, because he’ll be pleased, or because it’s the right thing to do. He tells us that he is just as really present in them as he is at the altar; “this is my body” and “this is my blood” and “I was hungry, I was thirsty”; not just “a beloved child of God was sick” but “I was sick and you took care of me.”
And then, as far as I know, the last place where Jesus tells us we can meet him now comes in today’s gospel reading: in caring for children. “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.” (Mark 9:37)
Many people believe in the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist, although it’s not mandatory by any means. Many people can buy the idea that you might encounter Jesus in prayer; you may have had moments where two or three were gathered and you felt Jesus there. Many people love the Matthew 25 citation when it encourages them to care for people who are hungry, or sick, or in prison. But few, in my experience, remember that in this Gospel passage today, Jesus puts children in exactly that same group. I’ve heard Emily Garcia, one of my favorite priests and one of your former Godly Play teachers, make this point more than once. Yes! she’ll say, when someone cites Matthew 25 to prove that compassionate work for social justice is at least as important as worship in Christian life, we encounter Christ when we truly encounter people who are hungry, or sick, or in prison—or who are children! “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.” (Mark 9:37) And what a relief for anyone whose baby has ever cried all the way through Mass.
This list, it turns out, is remarkably similar to what we do in church. We come together Sunday after Sunday to receive Christ’s Body and Blood. We gather in Jesus’ name to sing and to pray, to plan and sometimes to party. We care for other people when they are hungry or they are sick. And generation after generation, we welcome children in Jesus’ name. We do our best to teach them about the faith. We smile when they accuse us of stealing people’s pajamas and put us in “ninja jail.” (Which was last week.)
We do not do these things because we are a kindly social club, and it’s a good thing to do to serve the community and look after the kids so the parents can relax. We do these things, whether we realize or not, because it is in doing them that we encounter Christ.
We may not, to borrow Pew’s turn of phrase, feel “a deep sense of spiritual wellbeing” every time we meet on Zoom. We may not feel “a deep sense of wonder at the universe” every time we receive communion. We may not feel much peace as our children scream and run around upstairs.
But Jesus Christ is there.
I have no issue with people’s quest for their own spiritual truth, as such. But I worry that it sometimes leads us away from one another and into ourselves. It sometimes leads us to pursue not the presence of God but our own self-improvement or our own feeling of wellbeing. It sometimes leads us away from what James calls “works…done with gentleness born of wisdom” (James 3:13) and towards, well… CrossFit. No offense.
This morning begins our official “program year,” such as it is. We’re back to a full schedule of activities and meetings for kids and adults alike. And I want stick up for organized religion as we start this year, young fogey that I am. Our life together is hard. It’s not as peaceful or as satisfying as it would be to just stay home and pray, or do yoga, or catch up on sleep. But it’s in the community gathered, not just in the quiet moments alone, that Jesus comes to us. It’s when we break bread together. It’s when we gather in Jesus’ name. It’s when we care for one another, poor and hungry and children alike.
Jesus has told us where to find him; may he give us the grace to see him there. May he “grant us,” in the words of the opening collect today, “not to be anxious about earthly things, but to love things heavenly; and even now, while we are placed among things that are passing away, to hold fast to those that shall endure.” Amen.