One Bread, One Body

Gen. 28:10-19a                Psalm 139:1-11,22-23      
Romans 8:12-25              Matt. 13:24-30,36-53

When I was a young mother, my son gave me a gift I remember vividly.  On a warm day in June shortly before his fourth birthday, he came running into the house, his hair matted with perspiration, his face red with  excitement.  "Mommy, Mommy," he shouted.  "I bringed you some flowers 'cuz I love you."  He skipped toward me holding in his chubby little hand a bouquet of wilting dandelions.  "They are so boo-ti-ful," he said, his face wreathed in smiles.

Beautiful?  How could that be?  They were pesky weeds, pure and simple.  And, yes, beautiful beyond description.

Today's parable of the good grain and the weeds is one of several in which Jesus teaches about the kingdom of heaven.  We are told that it is not up to us to distinguish the good crop from the weeds.  That judgment is left to God.

In our imperfect world, though, we often undertake the role of judge, building barriers where there should be openness and walls where there should be bridges of understanding.  The sin of separation is as old as mankind, and the Bible is witness to that reality: Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau, Paul's church and the church in Jerusalem.

Secular history, right up to the present, is the story of "us" against "them."  Major events are set in motion by decisions to reform or eradicate the "them."  Romans persecuting Christians, the Union vs. the Confederacy, and most chillingly, Hitler's "ultimate solution."  And it continues.  Our daily newscasts are full of reports of atrocities committed against those whose politics or religion differs from those in power.

We are not immune from passing judgment here in bucolic Eureka Springs.  We assign labels: hippies, gays, right-wingers, flaming liberals, wetbacks, tree-huggers — and the list goes on.  We humans do so like to separate the sheep from the goats, don't we?  When we act from a position of moral superiority, we create obstacles to community.  Ironically, one of the places most harmed by such behavior is the very institution which teaches us the folly — and sinfulness — of judgment: the Church.

One Bible commentary I consulted concerning today's Gospel reading from Matthew had this to say:

"The parable of the weeds has many facets, but we can surely see, shimmering behind it, the experience of Matthew's church — and ours, too.  It chronically comes as a shock to find that the world, that the family into which we were born, that even the church is not an entirely trustworthy place. . . .  The church can be inspiringly courageous one moment and petty and faithless the next.  Good mixes with bad.  'Where did these weeds come from?’' is the perennial human cry." [The New Interpreter's Bible, Vol. VII, p. 311.]

I have a clear memory of the time I first learned that the church was flawed and that, unbelievably, even in the church I loved, I was a "weed."

In those days at the large Episcopal church in Kansas City my family attended, worship was formal, and we had a rector who appreciated the dramatic possibilities of liturgy.  The processional was grand — led by a tall, magnificent young crucifer and followed by candles, choirs, flags, another crucifer, the clergy ---- well, you get the idea.  I was faithful in my church attendance and devout in worship, awed by the elevated language and beauty of the service.

But every Sunday morning something rankled, until it grew into a festering sore.  I was unfit to serve as an acolyte.  Why?  Back then, only boys were permitted to be acolytes, and, alas, I had been born female.  This practice seemed grossly unfair to me.  How could it be that my own brothers, whom I knew all too well, and the obnoxious kid in my Sunday School class were more suited to serve God than I?

This same sense of my unworthiness persisted into early adulthood when I learned that women were not eligible to serve on vestries or as delegates to diocesan conventions.  And not until 1970 were females ordained to the priesthood.  Happily, some things have changed.

But the questions remain: Today, in this place and time, who are the Lauras whose gifts find no expression?  Whose inclusion is still in doubt?  Whose full participation in the life of the church continues as a topic of debate?

These and other questions are the subject of the Lambeth Conference being held right now in England.  A meeting of the bishops of the world-wide Anglican Communion, the Conference is a deliberative, rather than a legislative body.  Media coverage will, no doubt, focus on issues of sexuality, property, and episcopal oversight.  After all, conflict is so much more newsworthy than discussion of the Millennium Development Goals and more titillating than dialogue, prayer, understanding, and conciliation.

We can hope, as the Bible commentary stated, that the church will be "inspiringly courageous," rather than "petty and faithless."  But even in the church in 2008, the question is still posed: "Where did these weeds come from?"

From the localized argument over which woman's recipe is suitable for the church chili supper to the fundamental issues of Scriptural interpretation, the church, like all imperfect human institutions, is subject to controversy and judgment.  Dioceses pull out of the Episcopal Church in the United States, and a few bishops ignore the jurisdictions and episcopal authority of their fellow bishops.

The modern church faces dissent, just as it has since the time of Paul.  Certainly there was never a promise that we would all agree.  Whether it is the worldwide church or our small congregation at St. James', there are times when the church is troubled, wounded, or challenged.

So where does that leave us folks standing here in the field along with our fellow wheat stalks and weeds?  How can we be the church? 

The Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, speaking at the opening of the 2008 Lambeth Conference and appealing to the differing factions of the worldwide Anglican Communion, said this: "The Lord of the church commands that we must love one another . . . and there is no alternative to that.  I trust that you are here in that confidence, in that willingness to love one another." [Anglican Communuion News Service, July 17, 2008] 

We might take further instruction from the monks of the early Church, whose belief it was "that the first help they could give toward the reconciliation of the world was learning to live in and model love in their own communities." [Bondi, Roberta.  To Pray and to Love. Fortress Press, Minneapolis, MN., p. 97.]

Our judgmentalness, however, is the enemy of love and an obstacle to grace.  As we stand in the middle of that wheat field and look around, we surely see in others the reflection of our own imperfections and sinfulness.  The good news is that when we acknowledge our shortcomings and attempt to overcome them with God’s help, we take the first step to healing — and the first step toward being the Church in community.

Amid all the press coverage of Lambeth and a church at the crossroads, there are messages of great hope.  These are words written by our own Bishop Benfield in his daily Lambeth blog:

"At each of the worship services, people are asked to pray the Lord's Prayer in their own language.  Suddenly hundreds of voices rise up in a multitude of languages — French, Spanish, and Japanese, to name but a few — and the commonality of the phrases and where we pause to breathe becomes clearly apparent.  At about the same moment all the voices cease, and 'Amens' are heard around the room.  It is as clear a sign as any I have experienced so far of the common faith that gathers us together."  [episcopalchurch.typepad.com/lambethjournal/ ] 

Jesus implores us, "Let anyone with ears listen!" [Matt. 13:43.]  Our mission is not to worry about the church, but to be the church.  It is not to judge, but to love.  It is to recognize that in God’s field we are sometimes the weeds and sometimes the good grain.  And most especially, it is to rejoice in the miraculous, when even dandelions become the most precious of flowers.

Our hope and the future of the church rests in Jesus Christ and his abundant, life-giving promises.  As we gather in community around the altar this morning, we might do well to reflect on the words of a song often sung at Camp Mitchell at the time of the Eucharist.  Despite our conflicts, our unworthiness, or our judgments, these lyrics provide one of the best definitions of "church" that I know:

One bread, one body, one Lord of all,
One cup of blessing which we bless.
And we, though many, throughout the earth,
We are one body in this one Lord.

Gentile or Jew, servant or free,
Woman or man no more.

One bread, one body, one Lord of all,
One cup of blessing which we bless.
And we, though many throughout the earth,
We are one body in this one Lord.
    -- [John B. Foley, S.J. and North American Liturgy Resources]

Amen

Laura Shoffner
July 20, 2008


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