Knock Here

This is the sermon i preached at ARPC on Sunday, June 29th, in Charlotte. It's the first time i preached at my home church, of which i've been a member for over 20 years. To give you some slight background, this is a church on the corner of Albemarle Rd and Harris Blvd in Charlotte, which is the highest traffic exchange in the largest city in NC. It used to be on the outskirts of town, suburbs nearly in the country. In the years since i first attended, the neighborhood has changed greatly as the city expanded. It is no longer a mostly white middle class area of town, but an area of minorities, immigrants, high turn over apartments, and homeless. The congregation, however, is still the same, but most of it travels an average of 20 minutes to get there on Sundays.

This is the sermon from last Sunday...

Knock Here

In the story Les Miserables, the character Jean Valjean is imprisoned for five years for stealing bread for his starving sister and her family. When he is finally released, he walks many miles in the cold and tries to find lodging in a tavern or an inn. Knowing that he is a criminal, poor and homeless, they all throw him out without a bite to eat or even a stable to stay in. He even gets chased out of a dog house by a bull dog.

As he begins to try and make himself comfortable on a stone bench, a kind woman sees him there and offers him some of her very few pennies. She apologizes that it’s not enough to obtain lodging but maybe someone would offer him charity and a place to stay. He tells her that he has been turned out everywhere he has tried.

“You have knocked at every door?” she asks.

“Yes.”

Pointing at the church next door, she inquirers, “Have you knocked at that one there?”

“No.”

“Knock there.”

I’ve always thought of ARPC as a very welcoming place. It’s full of people I consider family. They are people who warmly welcomed my mother when she first came toting a very energetic toddler who liked to steal the golf pencils from the pews (that’s why we don’t have them any more, by the way). And Mrs. Brown still extends a monthly invitation to my father to join the choir. They called her and they encouraged her and they nurtured me and Kelley. There are men and women in this congregation who should be nominated for saint hood solely because they taught Sunday school and chaperoned retreats for me and Justin Stritch. We were blessed. We were received…. We were welcomed…. We were accepted.

You see, even in 1815 in France, the Church was a place for those in need, but those in need didn’t all know they could find refuge there. Perhaps the Church today is much the same. Perhaps churches are not unwelcoming places for the poor, the sick, and the lonely, but simply a well kept secret. Might the church need to do a little more advertising? The church is declining. The PC(USA) is shrinking. The Charlotte Presbytery is losing members. Maybe if the Church were as persistent as the folks who want you to switch your long distance plan it would be growing. Or if the Church was as omnipresent as Marine recruitment officers and Avon sales ladies… it would be growing. Or if the church was as likely to invite you into their home as grandma, maybe then… the Church would be growing.

The question I want to press today is what does it mean to truly receive, welcome, and accept? This church, like many churches, does a wonderful job of welcoming those from other denominations and faiths, other ethnicities and cultures. I think God tells us quite pointedly in scripture that welcoming, receiving, and accepting means more than smiling at everyone who walks in the door. They even do that at Wal-Mart… and they give out stickers. I think these words carry much greater meaning for those of us who call ourselves Christians. If we were to understand these words as passive, the great commission would look very different. Jesus would have instructed the Disciples to build a large church on the outskirts of town, in the suburbs and send fliers out to the rest of Jerusalem and the Roman Empire, inviting them to Sunday services and youth group, advertising their nursery and choir. Instead, Christ told them to go out to all nations.

In fact, there are countless stories in scriptures that illustrate this. When the prodigal son returns home, does his father fix up the spare room and wait for him to stroll in the front door? No. He goes running to him on the road and hurries him inside the house. Does the shepherd who loses his sheep keep calling the little sheep’s name, sitting under a tree, waiting for his return? No. Where does Ron stand every Lord’s day before service? In his office? Or does he go outside and welcome you in?

“Whoever receives and welcomes and accepts…”

Many of you have grown up in this church or… you came so long ago that you feel like you’ve always been a member. I’ve been a member for more than twenty years. Have you ever asked yourself, “Would I feel welcome as a visitor?”

Do you have a job? A family? A home? A car? Your health? If you have any or all of those things, maybe you’re asking the wrong question. Maybe you should be asking yourself, “If I were someone else, would I feel welcome as a visitor?”

ARPC has welcomed the worshipping communities led by three new worshipping communities; a Latino church, an African church, and soon, a Lutheran church that reaches out to the handicap community. We’ve opened our doors and our community to new cultures. However, would you feel welcome if the nicest thing you had to wear here to church was a pair of sweatpants, and a Good Will jean jacket? Would you feel welcome if those things smelled so bad that no one would want to sit directly next to you?

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

These are the words that end The New Colossus. They appear on the base of the Statue of Liberty. They have rarely reflected the immigration policy of the United States. As someone recently said, “It now reads, ‘No Vacancies.’” Many people have argued that this naïve poem is no way to run a country. Maybe it’s not. But it’s exactly how we are called… … to run a church.

“Whoever receives and welcomes and accepts…”

Just over twenty years ago, my parents and I lived just down the road on Farm Pond Lane by what used to be the Drug Emporium and within walking distance of Eastland Mall. This neighborhood has changed a lot since then. This church does so much to help the homeless through Room in the Inn. ARPC recently honored Mary Ann Ogle for her role in that life-changing ministry. What would it take to be a church that truly receives, welcomes, and accepts this community in an active way, both as a place to sleep and eat and feel safe, AS WELL AS a place to worship? Would things have to change? Would you stay in this congregation if it did? Can a bridge be built between Thursday evening and Sunday morning?

Singer, song writer David Bailey wrote a song based on the true events that transpired in a small Presbyterian Church in Birmingham. A homeless man, by the name of Big Joe hears singing as he walks past the church. So he “takes a step inside,” where he, “finds a bunch of well dressed folks who looked like they were trying to hide.” Hearing, “All ye who are hungry…” he wanders down the aisle hoping that means free food. He gets a little piece of bread and then a little Presbyterian-sized cup of… grape juice. Naturally, being hungry and poor, he notes that there’s still a half of loaf left over and could he take it home? After all, he’s got hungry friends too and they’re right there in the neighborhood.

Before you know it, the ushers and elders are in a “heated debate.” I’m sure none of you can imagine Don Blackmon or Art Parker or Jane Hutchko in such a situation. What’s the big deal? Use of communion elements? Disrupting the flow of worship? This is not in the bulletin. This guy doesn’t know how this works. No. He doesn’t. Why should he? Well, in the midst of this, Miss Betty, who makes the sacred elements each week runs off to the kitchen, and fills a basket full of bread. “You give this to your friends and you come on back next week,” she tells him. He smiles.

“As you’ve done for them, you’ve done for me.”

Amen.