This summer at Loch Leven, each day of camp will feature a different theme, a different Bible story, and a different word of the day. I am taking those seven days and turning them into seven sermons, to help me get ready for camp, and to highlight the connection between camp and congregational life.
The second day of camp will feature the scripture we just heard. I know: we read this scripture in worship already this year, at the end of January. But it’s good to hear it again.
It’s part of Paul’s first letter to the people of Corinth, people who were having a hard time working together, being church together. They let their differences get in the way. They divided themselves from one another, based on wealth, status, experience, and other factors. Perhaps they grew impatient with one another based on the imperfections they saw in each other.
So Paul writes to remind them that they may all be different, with different gifts and abilities; but they are all one body.
The word of the day for the second day at camp is ubuntu, an word which derives from several African languages, and which (roughly translated) means “you are who you are because of how you are connected to those around you.”
You are who you are because of how you are connected to those around you. Or, in a more Christian context: you are who you are because of how the Spirit connects you to those around you.
Thinking about this reminds me of the day I was ordained.
I don’t know how many of you have ever been to an ordination service. Some of you may have been to a rare double ordination service which took place when Elaine Schoepf and her mother Gayle Schoepf were both ordained on the same day.
A mother and daughter ordained together into Christian ministry - you certainly don’t see that every day! And they are a part of our church’s history.
But many of you, I suspect, have never been to an ordination ceremony. You’ve probably already figured out that an ordination ceremony is a special worship service that takes place when a person has completed all their training and education for ordained ministry.
My own ordination ceremony took place on the third Sunday of January, 1998 (over 20 years ago!), at the church where I grew up: Little White Chapel Christian Church in Burbank.
Ron Degges, who was then the pastor of Little White Chapel, and Ken Scovill, who was the pastor there when I was growing up, both took part. The church choir rehearsed and presented a special song just for the occasion. A representative from First Christian Church in Morro Bay, where I had just begun serving as minister, participated in the service, along with leaders from Little White Chapel and representatives from the regional church.
A lot took place that day, but the thing I remember most was the laying on of hands. I’m pretty sure I was asked to kneel (it’s been awhile) and then the hands of those representatives and leaders were placed on my shoulders, along with other hands… and I could feel the weight of those hands bearing down on me as a rather lengthy prayer was said on my behalf.
And I could feel the weight of those hands pressing down, and pressing in, the hands on my right side pushing me a little to the left, and the hands on my left side pushing me a little to the right, and at times it felt like the pressure wasn’t quite going to balance out, and I felt my body swaying back and forth.
No one noticed this but me. It was very slight. But it was enough to cause my thoughts to drift away from the prayer that was being said, and to start to wonder, almost in a panic, if those hands were going to push me enough to cause me to fall over - and wouldn’t that be embarrassing!
I fought against the pressure I felt. If I felt like I was being pushed to the left, I fought to move back to the right. If I felt like I was being pushed to the right, I fought to move myself back to the left. In my determination to stay centered and upright, it felt like a battle between me and the hands that were on my shoulders.
But… as the prayer continued… something changed.
I’m not sure what it was that led to this change. Perhaps it was the words of the prayer - the ones I heard, and the ones I didn’t hear. But an idea popped into my head, a voice that said: stop fighting. Stop resisting. Let go, and trust.
So I did. I stopped trying to resist the pressure of the hands I felt. And guess what happened?
The hands held me up! Instead of knocking me over, the hands held me up.
The lesson of that day has stuck with me ever since. We live in the most individualized society the earth has ever seen. We prize independence above all else. We think we are our own creation, that our lives are our own, our lives are what we ourselves make of them, that our destiny is our own to create.
But that is not true.
We are connected. We are connected to our families. We are connected to our friends. We are connected to our communities. We are connected to our church.
And these connections help make us what and who we are.
How often do we fight against the hands that are working to hold us up? In the past, we’ve been hurt, we’ve been knocked down; so we become skeptical, and we resist any attempts to help us, we resist any attempts to connect. We can say to ourselves, “I can make it on my own.”
But there are people who are reaching out to hold us up. They have held us up in the past, they hold us up now, and they will hold us up in the future.
And, in return, we have the opportunity to hold them up as well.
And we do this, because the Spirit binds us into one body. In our families, in our church, in our community, there really is no “me” apart from “you.”
And I cannot ever be happy if you are not happy. And you cannot ever be happy if I am not happy. Our happiness, our joy, is bound together.
That’s what love does. If you love your spouse, you are not happy unless your spouse is happy. If you love your child, you are not happy unless your child is happy. If you love your neighbor, you are not happy unless your neighbor is happy.
Which means I cannot be free if you are not free. I cannot be whole if you are broken. I cannot be saved if you are not saved.
That’s how God created us.
I think this awareness is one of the things that gives me patience with the church. The church is not perfect. The people in the church are not perfect. We make mistakes. And I know people who get so frustrated and impatient with the imperfections of the church, whether it’s at a congregational, regional, or denominational level.
But most people in the church truly do have their hearts in the right place.
(I’m not talking about those leaders we hear about in the news, who have abused their positions of leadership, and abused those under their care. They do need to be held accountable. I’m talking about most of the people you and I know, the vast majority who are committed to doing what is good and right, and who do it imperfectly, as we all do.)
Knowing that we really are all connected, that we are all parts of one body, that we are all called upon to hold each other up as we do the work God has called us to do… allows me to have patience, and to have a forgiving heart, when it comes to relating to the people I work with.
We all have our strengths, we all have our gifts, and they are not all the same. However, I can hold you up by using the gifts God has given me, and you can hold me up by using the gifts God has given you. That’s how we become a community. That’s how we practice ubuntu.
And the church and the community can and should be a place where it is safe for you to fall, safe for you to fail, because you know that when you do, others will hold you up. And it should be a place where others feel safe to fall, feel safe to fail, because they know you will hold them up.
A lot of the games we play and activities we do at camp reinforce this idea. At the lower end of camp there are two trees that growing in such a way that they look like twins - siamese twins, almost, since they come together at the trunk. We call these trees Gemini.
And campers are encouraged to put on a harness and climb one of the trees, all the way to the top, where they can ring a bell.
But what happens if they fall? A counselor or staff member is holding on to the rope, and will catch them if they fall. In fact, once they’ve reached the top, the easiest way down is for them to let go, and let the staff member gently lower them down to the ground.
Another activity at camp is called the leap of faith, in which campers actually jump off a platform that’s 30 feet in the air. But of course, they are harnessed and attached to a rope, (and these ropes are tested to something like 5,000 pounds), and a staff member or counselor is at the other end of that rope, and the camper is gently and safely lowered to the ground.
How wonderful it would be if we could always know that, anytime we fall - even if it’s a big fall, from 30 feet up in the air, that our community, our church, will catch us, and safely and gently lower us to the ground!
Certainly, we are called to take risks in ministry. In the church, we encourage people to take risks. For some, it’s a huge risk to stand in front of the congregation and speak. I’ve seen many people step into the lectern and lead worship for the first time, and seen their anxiety and nervousness. And yet every time they make a mistake (and anyone who speaks in public will, at some point, mess up)... Anytime that happens, the congregation catches them, supports them and holds them up. The congregation does not let them fall.
I can’t end this sermon without reminding you what the word religion really means. Religion comes from the Latin word religio & religare, which mean “to bind or connect.”
Religion is all about connecting.
Religion is all about connecting to God, and connecting to one another. Religion is all about understanding that we are all connected in the Spirit, who makes us one.
And unfortunately, religion has done a lot of dividing over the years, and continues to divide and separate people today. But that’s not true religion. True religion connects. True religion unites. True religion binds people into one.
True religion reminds us that we are all one family - one human family, with one heavenly parent. Our identity is wrapped up in this. We are who we are because of our connections. Without you, I would not be me. Without that person sitting next to you, or behind you, or in front of you, you would not be you. It is our connections, as much as anything else, that make us who we are.
The second day of camp will feature the scripture we just heard. I know: we read this scripture in worship already this year, at the end of January. But it’s good to hear it again.
It’s part of Paul’s first letter to the people of Corinth, people who were having a hard time working together, being church together. They let their differences get in the way. They divided themselves from one another, based on wealth, status, experience, and other factors. Perhaps they grew impatient with one another based on the imperfections they saw in each other.
So Paul writes to remind them that they may all be different, with different gifts and abilities; but they are all one body.
The word of the day for the second day at camp is ubuntu, an word which derives from several African languages, and which (roughly translated) means “you are who you are because of how you are connected to those around you.”
You are who you are because of how you are connected to those around you. Or, in a more Christian context: you are who you are because of how the Spirit connects you to those around you.
Thinking about this reminds me of the day I was ordained.
I don’t know how many of you have ever been to an ordination service. Some of you may have been to a rare double ordination service which took place when Elaine Schoepf and her mother Gayle Schoepf were both ordained on the same day.
A mother and daughter ordained together into Christian ministry - you certainly don’t see that every day! And they are a part of our church’s history.
But many of you, I suspect, have never been to an ordination ceremony. You’ve probably already figured out that an ordination ceremony is a special worship service that takes place when a person has completed all their training and education for ordained ministry.
My own ordination ceremony took place on the third Sunday of January, 1998 (over 20 years ago!), at the church where I grew up: Little White Chapel Christian Church in Burbank.
Ron Degges, who was then the pastor of Little White Chapel, and Ken Scovill, who was the pastor there when I was growing up, both took part. The church choir rehearsed and presented a special song just for the occasion. A representative from First Christian Church in Morro Bay, where I had just begun serving as minister, participated in the service, along with leaders from Little White Chapel and representatives from the regional church.
A lot took place that day, but the thing I remember most was the laying on of hands. I’m pretty sure I was asked to kneel (it’s been awhile) and then the hands of those representatives and leaders were placed on my shoulders, along with other hands… and I could feel the weight of those hands bearing down on me as a rather lengthy prayer was said on my behalf.
And I could feel the weight of those hands pressing down, and pressing in, the hands on my right side pushing me a little to the left, and the hands on my left side pushing me a little to the right, and at times it felt like the pressure wasn’t quite going to balance out, and I felt my body swaying back and forth.
No one noticed this but me. It was very slight. But it was enough to cause my thoughts to drift away from the prayer that was being said, and to start to wonder, almost in a panic, if those hands were going to push me enough to cause me to fall over - and wouldn’t that be embarrassing!
I fought against the pressure I felt. If I felt like I was being pushed to the left, I fought to move back to the right. If I felt like I was being pushed to the right, I fought to move myself back to the left. In my determination to stay centered and upright, it felt like a battle between me and the hands that were on my shoulders.
But… as the prayer continued… something changed.
I’m not sure what it was that led to this change. Perhaps it was the words of the prayer - the ones I heard, and the ones I didn’t hear. But an idea popped into my head, a voice that said: stop fighting. Stop resisting. Let go, and trust.
So I did. I stopped trying to resist the pressure of the hands I felt. And guess what happened?
The hands held me up! Instead of knocking me over, the hands held me up.
The lesson of that day has stuck with me ever since. We live in the most individualized society the earth has ever seen. We prize independence above all else. We think we are our own creation, that our lives are our own, our lives are what we ourselves make of them, that our destiny is our own to create.
But that is not true.
We are connected. We are connected to our families. We are connected to our friends. We are connected to our communities. We are connected to our church.
And these connections help make us what and who we are.
How often do we fight against the hands that are working to hold us up? In the past, we’ve been hurt, we’ve been knocked down; so we become skeptical, and we resist any attempts to help us, we resist any attempts to connect. We can say to ourselves, “I can make it on my own.”
But there are people who are reaching out to hold us up. They have held us up in the past, they hold us up now, and they will hold us up in the future.
And, in return, we have the opportunity to hold them up as well.
And we do this, because the Spirit binds us into one body. In our families, in our church, in our community, there really is no “me” apart from “you.”
And I cannot ever be happy if you are not happy. And you cannot ever be happy if I am not happy. Our happiness, our joy, is bound together.
That’s what love does. If you love your spouse, you are not happy unless your spouse is happy. If you love your child, you are not happy unless your child is happy. If you love your neighbor, you are not happy unless your neighbor is happy.
Which means I cannot be free if you are not free. I cannot be whole if you are broken. I cannot be saved if you are not saved.
That’s how God created us.
I think this awareness is one of the things that gives me patience with the church. The church is not perfect. The people in the church are not perfect. We make mistakes. And I know people who get so frustrated and impatient with the imperfections of the church, whether it’s at a congregational, regional, or denominational level.
But most people in the church truly do have their hearts in the right place.
(I’m not talking about those leaders we hear about in the news, who have abused their positions of leadership, and abused those under their care. They do need to be held accountable. I’m talking about most of the people you and I know, the vast majority who are committed to doing what is good and right, and who do it imperfectly, as we all do.)
Knowing that we really are all connected, that we are all parts of one body, that we are all called upon to hold each other up as we do the work God has called us to do… allows me to have patience, and to have a forgiving heart, when it comes to relating to the people I work with.
We all have our strengths, we all have our gifts, and they are not all the same. However, I can hold you up by using the gifts God has given me, and you can hold me up by using the gifts God has given you. That’s how we become a community. That’s how we practice ubuntu.
And the church and the community can and should be a place where it is safe for you to fall, safe for you to fail, because you know that when you do, others will hold you up. And it should be a place where others feel safe to fall, feel safe to fail, because they know you will hold them up.
A lot of the games we play and activities we do at camp reinforce this idea. At the lower end of camp there are two trees that growing in such a way that they look like twins - siamese twins, almost, since they come together at the trunk. We call these trees Gemini.
And campers are encouraged to put on a harness and climb one of the trees, all the way to the top, where they can ring a bell.
But what happens if they fall? A counselor or staff member is holding on to the rope, and will catch them if they fall. In fact, once they’ve reached the top, the easiest way down is for them to let go, and let the staff member gently lower them down to the ground.
Another activity at camp is called the leap of faith, in which campers actually jump off a platform that’s 30 feet in the air. But of course, they are harnessed and attached to a rope, (and these ropes are tested to something like 5,000 pounds), and a staff member or counselor is at the other end of that rope, and the camper is gently and safely lowered to the ground.
How wonderful it would be if we could always know that, anytime we fall - even if it’s a big fall, from 30 feet up in the air, that our community, our church, will catch us, and safely and gently lower us to the ground!
Certainly, we are called to take risks in ministry. In the church, we encourage people to take risks. For some, it’s a huge risk to stand in front of the congregation and speak. I’ve seen many people step into the lectern and lead worship for the first time, and seen their anxiety and nervousness. And yet every time they make a mistake (and anyone who speaks in public will, at some point, mess up)... Anytime that happens, the congregation catches them, supports them and holds them up. The congregation does not let them fall.
I can’t end this sermon without reminding you what the word religion really means. Religion comes from the Latin word religio & religare, which mean “to bind or connect.”
Religion is all about connecting.
Religion is all about connecting to God, and connecting to one another. Religion is all about understanding that we are all connected in the Spirit, who makes us one.
And unfortunately, religion has done a lot of dividing over the years, and continues to divide and separate people today. But that’s not true religion. True religion connects. True religion unites. True religion binds people into one.
True religion reminds us that we are all one family - one human family, with one heavenly parent. Our identity is wrapped up in this. We are who we are because of our connections. Without you, I would not be me. Without that person sitting next to you, or behind you, or in front of you, you would not be you. It is our connections, as much as anything else, that make us who we are.
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