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There’s a lie that says there is only one proper way to share the gospel. All pastors must look serious, wear billowy black robes, and discuss sin at length. Professors must also look serious, but with a tie. And I don’t have anything against robing or ties, but surely there’s another way.
That’s one of the reasons why you all are holding crayons and crossword puzzles this morning. Growing up, I fell in love with church because attending with my family was so much fun. My family has a variety of games we play during church, ranging from guessing how many times the pastor will say Jesus during the sermon to seeing who can sing the loudest on the last hymn.
So after years of serious seminary work, it’s always good to go back to my home church and sit next to my dad. To this day, there’s a strong chance he’ll hand me an old children’s bulletin that he’s saved that I might have started on a Sunday morning 16 years ago. He’s a little bit of a hoarder. But he still expects me to do the crossword puzzle on the text for the day, no matter that I could write a detailed 8 to 10 page exegesis paper on it instead.
It’s a silly, humbling, helpful reminder that I was just as loved by God at age 8 as I am now that I nearly have a seminary degree.
It helps keep me in my place. It reminds me that I am not the vine. I am just a branch. I am not nearly as central or important as I think I am. As the Gospel of John eloquently reminds me, that apart from Jesus I can do nothing. And what a relief that is!
This good news can be a hard lesson about pride, but it can also be liberating. Living our lives attached to Jesus means we can let go of the dead things that weigh us down. We can set down our burdens of needing to fix and save everyone, because we can leave that up to the savior. Wee can abide in Christ.
That knowledge, that freedom is how we get to central, complete joy.
Joy, one of the fruits of the Spirit. Joy is remembering the night before you preach that it’s not about you, but what God has to say. Joy is watching Martin Tel dance. Joy is the freedom to be silly and sit in your own skin. Joy is the gospel unleashed.
Have you ever seen a monk laugh? I remember sitting with Brother Paul, a student of Thomas Merton under a ginkgo tree in the Abbey of Gesthemani. There was something about the way his eyes were perpetually crinkled at the corners that let me know he had joy down in his heart. Better yet, his laughter showed me and the rest of the group that our attempt to be solemn and respectful was misplaced, that there was freedom to laugh and enjoy the beauty of the green grass and bright sun, even at a monastery known for silence.
Joy is different than happiness. I couldn’t quite get how, until I learned the sign language. Big, full of life. Deep and slow, which is why we can’t come up with it on our own, but have to be connected to the source of life to really get it.
Therefore joy is not a simplistic dismissal of real demons of depression and grief. It’s not a callous mandate to cheer up. There are many times where I believe God holds onto this joy for us until we are ready to pick it up again.
But we cannot ignore the centrality of joy in the gospel. It is the sign of God’s people freely loving and serving God. We must open spaces for people to express the joy they have found in Jesus Christ. We must give ourselves permission to be joyful, too.
In a class a few weeks back, Dr. Barreto read a parable called “The People’s House” written by Carlos Mesters. I’d like to share that story with you now. It goes like this:
At one time, there was a great house called the People’s House with a beautiful, large door opening right onto the street. Many people passed through that door. Then, one day, two scholars arrived. They loved ancient things, and when they saw the house, they perceived its value. They discovered a side door to the house where they could enter quietly and study unperturbedly, and so they started using it instead of the much travelled door of the people.
The scholars studied the house, uncovering its rich history and many beautiful qualities. At night they would describe their discoveries to the people who more and more came to admire the house and the scholars. Many days passed. The people now treated the house differently. Now they respected the house. The didn’t dance and sing anymore. When they entered they remained quiet, waiting in awe for the scholars to speak. Gradually, everyone stopped using the front door and used the side door instead. As the people would enter they would receive a guidebook explaining the ancient and rare artifacts in the house.
Eventually, the front door was completely forgotten. Weeds grew and hid the door. The weeds also covered the front windows so the house became dark, illuminated only by candles.
More time went by. While the scholars continued to enter the house through its side door, holding meetings during which they argued about antiques, the humble people stopped going to the house. The novelty of the discoveries had worn off, and the people were tired of the dark house and side entrance. They didn’t really understand the scholars' discussions anyways. The people walked by on the street but no longer even saw the house. Occasionally they would pause as if lost. Something seemed to be missing, but the people didn’t know what. The people no longer remembered the house.
Then one night an old beggar, looking for protection against the cold, pushed his way through the weeds and found the front door of the big house. He entered through a crack. The house was beautiful and it was warm. The next night the beggar came back. Soon, he brought friends, bagladies and runaways. They began to come every night. The weeds were beaten back and light entered the house. The people were happy and began to whisper, “this is our house.” The news spread.
In the mornings, when the scholars would arrive through their side door, they would notice the signs indicating that the humble people were sneaking in at night. The scholars called a meeting and some got mad, saying “the people are going to mess up the house.” But one scholar hid at night in a corner of the front room and saw the people come in without asking permission to dance and sing and play in the house. He liked what he saw. In fact, he was so impressed that he came out of his corner and joined the circle of those were were dancing. Then he discovered what he should have always known: that the real purpose of scholarship was to help the people to find joy in life. After that he also started entering the house through the front door, and he saw the house in yet a new way.
All are invited. Abide in Jesus, so that your joy may be complete.
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