Let's Kiss Some Babies!

I live outside of Philadelphia, about 7 miles from this past weekend’s Pope-A-Rama that turned the city of Philadelphia like an upset apple cart with the visit of Pope Francis.  At one point on Sunday morning, the television commentators—who were covering every single movement of the pontiff live on television—indicated that they had counted 12 babies that the Pope had kissed since touching down in Philadelphia.  The number went on to soar well beyond that, and as it’s only Monday, I’ve yet to see an official count of Pope kisses.  Two words.  A. Lot. 

Anyone watching the coverage, either locally or nationally, surely saw what is plain.  This Pope has great curb appeal.  People lined up on curbs all over, just for a glimpse or glimmer of the Bishop of Rome—and they dangled children for his Holiness to kiss.  And obviously, as is often the case with Popes, the young and old, the maimed and lame, were strategically placed along the traveled pathways, where they too might be offered their own special encounter with the one who represents Christ. 

It’s never a P.R. stunt.  But it is. 

The one who represents Christ…, that’s supposed to be not just His Holiness, the Pope.  That’s supposed to be a lot more of us! 

Often over the last week, I was reminded either in the coverage or on someone’s Facebook feed that this behavior—of paying particular or special attention to the least, the lost, the poor, the underprivileged, the hurting, the sick, the suffering—is what Jesus did.  Over and over, as so many remarked at the Pope’s courage or his strong words, or even blamed him for the resignation of the Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives—the Bishop of Bishop’s influence was attributed to his determination to model Jesus for the world at all costs! 

And the crowds loved Pope Francis for it. 

But do they love Jesus for it? 

In the United States, politicians get the reputation for “kissing babies.”  It is a campaign stunt.  And people everywhere see right through it.  Maybe, that’s why when I suggest that those of us in protestant church traditions, and especially Presbyterians, would do well to start kissing some babies, that idea will get frowned on. 

But kissing babies is powerful. 

Not because it’s a P.R. stunt—but because it looks like Jesus. 

Kissing babies is just the beginning.  The problem is, of course, it forces us to love and accept, include and adore, people and ideas that aren’t always “popular.”  The Pope can get away with kissing dangled infants in a parade, or even hugging inmates in prison—he’s the Pontiff.  But when our churches accept poor families at the pot-luck dinner, or welcome drug addicts to the alcoholics anonymous meetings, we’re somehow conscripted by many as “enabling bad behavior” or “letting those people have something for nothing.” 

So these days, as many of our churches face struggles of diminished worship attendance and declining financial giving, we might reflect on what it is to represent Christ.  Our diminishment and declination has happened, at least in part, because we have not done well to replace the current ranks of members with new members.  We haven’t found new members who were interested in pursuing the old goals and strategies devised and carried out by our older members; and our unwillingness to change and adapt to the mission ideals of newer members has left us short-handed. 

I think Jesus faced these same challenges.  He had a loyal opposition known as the scribes and Pharisees—entrenched religious leaders who believed they had it right!  Sound familiar? 

But Jesus continually and consistently managed to step outside the box those leaders invited him to operate within.  Jesus could have climbed those ranks, he too could have been one of “those members” and would have been more and a different kind of popular.  He didn’t. 

The same kinds of themes are being observed when it comes to Pope Francis.  Refusing to bow to the loyal opposition.  Continuing to look outside the box.  Continuing to welcome strangers, sinners, the least, the lost.  Oh, and he’s almost universally popular because he kisses babies, the disabled, the afflicted, and bad characters! 

When was the last time we did things like that?  Because we represent Christ? 

Last week, I read yet another article aimed at suggesting to Presbyterian congregations how we might get outside the “box” we’ve created for ourselves by not recruiting and establishing new church members.  The suggestions were practical and worship-based.  “Don’t preach the lectionary, instead, use a sermon series.” 

I’m all for new ideas.  But I’ve studied church history and liturgical tradition and the lectionary.  I think the lectionary is simply “the original sermon series.”  But more than that, if we follow it—and more importantly, by it, follow Jesus—we might do better by getting out there and kissing a few babies!  And not metaphorically!  Maybe not just babies, either, but finding ways to welcome the least, the lost, the stranger, the one in need, the ones without hope, the ones who’ve given up—and offering them another chance to be enchanted by the one who calls us to live differently. 

At all costs. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

Seminaries and Churches Together--A Sermon for Theological Education Sunday

Let us pray.  

--+        Our delight is in your law, O Lord, and on your teachings we meditate day and night.  Gathered by Christ as his disciples, may we draw ever closer to your Word.  May it hold us together as we welcome all your children into your presence; may it inspire us to welcome your presence in our own hearts and minds.  AMEN. 

“Seminaries and Churches Together”

--}        Brothers and Sisters, for most of my 20 years in ordained ministry as a Teaching Elder in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), I have been an advocate for theological education working with the seminary support network to help fund our denomination’s Theological Education Fund. 

The Theological Education Fund was established shortly after the reunion of the Northern and Southern expressions of Presbyterianism in 1984; and the dream at the time of its inception was to provide a sturdy, denomination-wide funding stream that would substantially support and undergird the ministry of our Presbyterian Seminaries.  We have 10 Seminaries that belong outright to our denomination and us, and two additional seminaries related by covenant agreement.  These institutions provide for education and nurture for church leaders, particularly those in ordained ministry—both teaching and ruling elders—but especially inquirers and candidates seeking ordination as teaching elders, for which a seminary degree is required. 

For 2014, the Theological Education Fund received gifts totaling just over 1 million dollars from congregations and individuals across the denomination.  Just a decade ago, the Theological Education Fund accounted for nearly 3 million dollars annually.  And when you consider that those funds are divided among 11 schools that receive financial support—that 1 million dollars doesn’t go far enough to support the substantial service our seminaries are tasked provide.  Consider further that each of those schools, must raise several million dollars annually just to meet the budget—what we’re providing as a denomination is woefully inadequate for the needs which we have. 

Today, the cost of providing 1 year of theological education is more than $60,000 per student. 

And while tuition grants cover most of the tuition costs for PRESBYTERIAN students at our seminaries, the overall costs still leave seminary graduates with a substantial debt load, that even younger students will have a hard time repaying over their lifetime at today’s median salary in the PCUSA—not even considering those who receive salaries on the lower end of the scale or who come as older students! 

But my task today was not to shame you for not having given more money to TEF.  Our congregation faces its own serious financial difficulties and we haven’t had money to put toward causes like the TEF in recent years.  The financial situations at our seminaries are not as dire as our own, thanks to substantial endowment programs that buoy the balance sheets.  However, that cannot be a reason that we simply allow theological education to languish on its own. 

It’s not just about service to students, but serving the needs of the whole church! 

Remember, Jesus prescribes “theological education” for believers and followers in today’s gospel lesson.  It’s the kind of education that requires skills at recognizing the needs of others.  And, apparently, it requires skills that aren’t natural—in fact, they’re skills that very much go against the kind of education the “world” offers us. 

Martha Moore-Keish, a seminary classmate of mine, notes Joyce Ann Mercer’s Welcoming Children: A Practical Theology of Childhood in a Feasting on the Word commentary about today’s passage the importance of recognizing the value of children.  Jesus doesn’t offer up the child as a cute example, but a purposeful reminder for believers: 

" The 'gift of children' is thus not only about the delight and wonder that children embody, but also about the way that children draw Jesus’ followers into resisting all imperial powers of our time, struggling against all that opposes the 'kin-dom of God'."

See, the presence of the child in the story compels Jesus’ believers and followers into ministry to the “least” the “lost,” and the “forgotten.”  THIS—is theological education.  Preparation for ministry—as Christians, but also for Teaching and Ruling Elders—requires a different way of seeing the world!  Our seminaries are tasked with opening this new world where God’s love and vision for all of creation can be revealed.  It’s not a matter of simply “learning what the Bible says,” as if it’s just reading the words and applying a plain meaning.  It’s a matter of learning a craft, understanding the task of God’s claim on our lives, and living new lives! 

This isn’t just a task for preachers—for learning Greek and Hebrew and memorizing all of the books of the Bible—it’s a process and a practice of sharing with the church at large the call and claim of God in the world. 

Theological Education is the starting point for every ministry!  It’s the place at which we discern a calling and seek to follow God.  It’s also the resources we need to “be the Church” in the world.  It’s about leadership AND exploration.  It’s about having research centers where the latest studies and information can be deciphered as well as addressing needed, real-world questions. 

For example, the Bible offers absolutely no guidance about the use of fossil fuels or nuclear weapons—directly.  And while policy decisions about sex trafficking or homelessness or pornography and the dangers of the internet and cable television seem self-explanatory in light of the 10 Commandments—they’re not.  How we understand WHO we are as well as WHOSE we are is in part, related to our “theological education.” 

The theological education Jesus prescribes for believers and followers is one where we learn to recognize the people we are not inclined to recognize.  THEY are VITAL to our seeing and knowing the Kingdom of God!  Without them, we have little hope of accomplishing what God has called to us accomplish. 

The theological education Jesus prescribes is putting a child in the midst of the adults, to put a child in the midst of those who think they know—as an invitation to welcome the child. 

So this morning, I want to do no less than Jesus for you; except the child that I would put in your midst is theological education in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) and the work and support of our 10 + 2 Presbyterian Seminaries. 

My job is to invite you to share from your hearts—AND from your checking accounts.  Because while our congregation doesn’t currently have money to support this ministry, it doesn’t mean that you as individuals can’t make your own contributions to this work of God’s mission on earth.  And in your bulletin is information about the theological education fund and how you can contribute online or by writing a check and sending it to the Presbyterian Foundation.  Or, you can write a check to our congregation and mark it for the THEOLOGICAL EDUCATION FUND. 

And please, don’t think that a gift to TEF should be more valuable than your other giving.  Don’t make this gift instead of your pledged giving to our congregation, or instead of gifts you promised or intend to give to other causes that are important to you or our congregation.  Accept this “child in your midst” as a challenge to increase your giving and to give more.  Use it as an opportunity to push past your usual and customary giving, having been invited into the realities of God’s kingdom on earth.  And know that this additional, special giving, is part of the way God has invited you to respond to the small one amongst you. 

THIS is about Seminaries and Church together.  The Theological Education Fund is like “paying it forward” because some day, this congregation will require a new pastoral leader.  It just makes sense to replenish the ranks.  By funding the work of seminaries now, there is something to rely on later. 

But even now, with a pastoral leader in place, the work of our seminaries provides valued and needed resources toward meeting the needs of God’s mission in the world.  Resources to train congregational leaders, provide direction, and valued input.  As we turn to face the crisis of racism, theological education offers a wealth of knowledge and input.  As we seek to become a resource to our community in Havertown, theological education can help us speak “God” to the people around us. 

So, I’m putting the child before you. 

Won’t you join me in making a difference?  In welcoming him to the fold of the faithful; or, by remembering that SHE is the key to the Kingdom of God—for us.  And, for so many others. 

Will you pray with me? 

--+  Help us, O God, by the power of your Spirit, to listen attentively to your living Word, to speak boldly of your saving love, and to live faithfully in your holy way; we pray in Jesus’ name. AMEN. 

Worship Celebrating the 17^th Sunday after Pentecost; September 20, 2015

THEOLOGICAL EDUCATION / PRESBYTERIAN SEMINARIES SUNDAY

The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch; Havertown, PA 

Texts:   |  Mark 9: 30-37 * 

Tipping Point

I had one of those moments today that I don’t often have. 

I had heard there was a breathtaking picture floating around social media of a three-year-old who washed up dead on a beach.  I read comments by people who didn’t want to see the photo because they had children.  I saw other comments by people who didn’t want to come face to face with the bold reality that this small, wee, one, this vulnerable child, could in fact be their child.  I saw other comments that said plainly, “it looked like my child.”  These were all bold, daring people who don’t run easily from a fight—or a picture. 

I knew what was coming. 

I would have had to look myself, to find it, except I was in a phone conversation and just happened to glance over to the Facebook feed to see that the person I was talking to on the phone had also just posted the story. 

I knew to wait until I was off the phone. 

By then, there were other postings. 

I knew what would happen when I saw. 

And there was that feeling in the pit of my stomach—not the feeling I’d been having because I skipped lunch. 

I was listening to the NPR news story.  I heard Mr. Broucheart talk about being moved by the shoes.  They were ordinary children’s shoes in the photo I was looking at with the soldier carrying the limp body.  There was nothing strange or odd about the shoes. 

And then I saw the image of the boy lying face-down on the beach, no soldier around, just the boy.  And his shoes. 

I wept first. 

Then I groaned. 

But I don’t think it was because I put those kind of shoes on my own two boys when they were that age, or my daughter who just graduated from those kind of shoes this last year.  These weren’t the shoes of my children and I wasn’t reminded of my own children so much.  I had by then come to grips with the reality that this child, his mother and his brother—and his father who survived—were all fleeing from Syria.  From the war in Syria.  From the war in Syria that in part is shaped by the foreign policy (or lack of policies) by my own country.  From the war in Syria that affects thousands of lives across a whole region of the world, now.  Countless children affected, lost, killed, lives destroyed by far more violent means than drowning at sea! 

I was also being reminded that these waters were dangerous waters from biblical times.  That the Apostle Paul for one was shipwrecked in this same region, and himself—the stories tell us—made many a perilous crossing to deliver the good news of the gospel or riding in chains.  There was, after all, perhaps not anything new about this story in more than 2,000 years.  It just keeps happening.  It’s just that it’s far, far away from my day to day life—and I don’t hear about it, every day. 

The picture forced an emotional reaction in me, but I was not sad.  I’m angry.  Because this, too, is the face of gun violence, of violence and fear.  This is what happens when human beings are too afraid, or we’re hell-bent to have our own way at the expense of others.  And I see it all the time in my every day life right here in suburban America and it is only by the grace of God—no, perhaps only by dumb statistical luck—no, I want to say something about God makes this better for me, but I’m afraid it doesn’t because I know for certain God doesn’t love me or my children more or less than God loved this child washed up on the shore, or some other father’s child in Syria or inner-city Philadelphia.  And that’s the rub.  This isn’t a story about God or the lack or loss of God.  It’s a story about human beings who don’t walk enough with God.  Myself included. 

This is what I put on Facebook: 

The photo breaks my heart. But I'm not offended by a photo. I'm angry. I'm angry that even now, we as Christian people will be most likely to pray about it, but do nothing more. Myself included. Come, Lord Jesus, and convict us that we are wholly unable to live this way. But that we must put ourselves and drag others kicking and screaming if necessary, under the call and claim of your Kingdom. May we be forced to look at the world we have been complicit in creating. May we confess our poor choices. May we look to the promise that we can now write another ending so that others don't have to be victims.

Today, this is what this picture did to me. 

I’m willing to say: “I hate guns.”  There are reasons I have to live with them.  But I hate them. 

This tragic story began because of armed, human conflict.  This family simply wanted to escape.  We all want to escape. 

The shoes didn’t bother me. 

I’d rather not spare you the horrific image.  Perhaps there are reasons we don’t pass the photos from Sandy Hook Elementary or Columbine.  We should look in wonder …and come to grips with our human complicity.  Ask ourselves why we allow it to happen again and again and again.  Myself included.  Perhaps, that should be said of a great many things of which we keep ourselves neatly separated from.  It’s why we can live with all the violence and killing that we do. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania