Saugatuck: Welcoming All People
DATE: January 17, 2010
SCRIPTURE: I Corinthians 12: 1-12
This has been a challenging week to watch television news programs. Image after image has shown us the horrific suffering befalling the island nation of Haiti. Injured children separated from their parents. Husbands frantically searching for wives in the rubble. Women wailing in grief as they've learned about the death of loved ones. For many, many people it has been unbearable.
In reality, though, things are always hard in Haiti for most folks—we just don't see it. One reporter talking about how the destruction of all the hospitals in Port Au prince has created a great shortage of medical care commented that of course, there weren't nearly enough to begin with. (The Today Show, NBC, 1-16-10)
How tragic that it often takes a major disaster, like the earthquake in Haiti, or a hurricane in New Orleans, to remind us of the great poverty experienced by much of the world. But so it is. Chris Heurertz, the director of an international relief agency working in India, frequently saw such poverty in Kolkata. In his book Simple Christianity, he tells of one such encounter.
While out walking one day he and his companions came across a person lying on the ground, covered with flies, lying under a filthy blanket, surrounded by his own waste. The touched the man's shoulder to see if he was alive—and he was. He barely moved. He appeared to be in his early twenties. Heuertz writes: "As soon as he realized we were there to help him, he began weeping uncontrollably. A crowd gathered. He continued to cry."
One of Heuertz' friends had a bottle of water. She used that, with some newspaper, to begin to clean the man up. He clearly was greatly malnourished—his bony body betrayed his hunger. He said his name was Tutella Dhas and that he was lost—and alone.
They tried to get a taxi, to take him where he could be helped. But none would stop. While more and more people gathered round to watch, none offered to help. Finally they procured a cab, and took the man to Mother Teresa's hospice.
Just as they were leaving, Heuertz looked up and realized they were right in front of a church. He writes: "[Its sign was] less than five feet [from] where we found the dying Tutella Dhas. [It] read, 'All are welcome here.' It may have been what inspired someone to drop [him] in front of the church. But was he welcome? People from the church watched as we helped Tutella, yet the gate remained closed." (Simple Christianity, 61-62)
Drive around some time and take a look at church signs. You'll often see similar words. "All Welcome," "Visitors Welcome." Really hopeful churches will say "Visitors Expected." Our own sign reads, "Welcoming All People." It's also the second line of our vision statement. But what does welcome really mean?
Earlier this week I happened to be in East Norwalk helping Linda arrange for the moving truck that she just drove down to Florida. There, in one of the dingier parts of town, I spotted a sign in front of a small Methodist church that stopped me in my tracks. It was one of those signs with moveable letters. It too said, "All Welcome"—but then, above it, in bright red letters, it read: "Not Just a Declaration." Not Just a Declaration.
Look, how we treat our guests on Sunday morning is important. Indeed, according to one survey, 71% of respondents said a church's friendliness towards visitors was extremely or very important. And I agree. Greeting newcomers, providing them information about our programs, inviting them to Fellowship Hour is an important part of welcoming all people. Talking to newcomers is vital. I love the tartness of a Bret Legg cartoon that reminds us how challenging that can be. It shows a worship leader standing in front of a congregation before there equivalent of Passing of the Peace. "Now," he says, "while the instruments play, please shake hands with two people who are not part of your clique." (Leadership 13: I) Yes, welcoming our visitors is important—I wish we had more Jim Goodenoughs and Bill Meyers and Betty Railas! But it doesn't stop there. Welcoming all people means far, far more. Scott Ginsburg makes his living helping organizations, churches and businesses, become more welcoming. Real welcome he says isn't just about greeting folks warmly at the door; it is something that must reach into every part of an organization. (www.HelloMyNameIsScott.com)
I suspect that the church at Corinth had a hard time understanding that principle. At every level of their life as a congregation they were putting up barriers. You had to be baptized by this person or that to be considered righteous. You had to possess a particular spiritual gift to be truly valued. You had to celebrate the Lord's Supper in a certain way to feel truly welcomed. And as a result, they had a lot of fights. But Paul tries to put them straight. Look, he says, you should welcome all people. You should value each and every one as a child of God. It takes all sorts of parts to make a body—it takes all sorts of people to make a church! And as you welcome one another, so you demonstrate how God welcomes us all.
One of my predecessors, Alan Johnson, puts it well in his new book. Our faith, he says "affirms that each person is unique and valued in the eyes of God. You can make that faith tangible by your welcome." (Encounters at the Counter, 52) We can make that faith tangible in how we treat each other, and in how we welcome the stranger.
Saugatuck has a history of doing that. Back in the seventies, when it became clear that there were folks living in the woods and in the back alleys of Westport, this church opened up its doors and set up cots—provided food and shelter for the homeless. It wasn't without controversy. Some thought so poorly of it that they left the church. And there were issues of concern. But in time, the leadership of this church worked to create what today is one of the most successful housing programs in the country.
Some may think that we have little in the way of substance abuse issues in our fair town. But years ago, this congregation opened its doors to twelve step programs like Alcoholics Anonymous, and welcomed those in recovery into our classrooms and hallways. It's not always been smooth sailing, but it has meant untold numbers of lives have been saved—and today, fifty such groups meet here every week. I recently had a conversation with one of the newer members of one of the groups who'd heard I was moving. "You set all that up?" she asked, referring to all the space we open up to twelve-step groups. "Oh, no," I told her. "I'm a strong advocate, but this congregation has a longstanding commitment to people in recovery." She was relieved. Perhaps, like some others I've spoken to, she thought my leaving might mean the end of such space availability.
When we went through the O & A process and discussed whether or not to become an Open and Affirming congregation, there were those who were uncomfortable. One person even leafleted the cars in the parking lot one Sunday in protest. But overwhelmingly, this congregation voted to say out loud what was always at the core of its beliefs: all people are welcome, gay or straight, black, white or brown, able bodied or not.
One of the great saints of this church was and is the late Steve Ogilvy. Shortly before his unexpected death I had preached a sermon about the need for the church to welcome all people, even skeptics, and those who were unsure in their faith.
A few weeks earlier we had had our annual Confirmation Service, and some of our confirmands had offered up rather unorthodox statements of faith. Apparently some folks had discussed the service with Steve, wondering why we didn't insist on more traditional beliefs. "You know," he told me that morning I had preached about skeptics, "It took me a while but I finally convinced them how important it is to make room for everybody, whether we agree with them or not." A+ Steve, A+!
Vonnie Spies is one of the most welcoming souls in our whole congregation. She constantly puts her faith into practice. She creates colorful bulletin boards to welcome folks who visited our offices. She oversees our SOS program and makes sure the sick and homebound have hot nutritious meals when they need them. She coordinates our effort to feed the hungry at the local homeless shelter. She is Lady Hospitality!
The other day she handed me a slip of paper—and on it was a quote from author Peter Storey. "John," she'd written on the paper, "I know you probable [have] read this but it's something that really hit home with me—thought I'd share—Vonnie."
Well, I hadn't read it. And it hits home with me as well. And in many ways it encapsulates all we've said this morning. Storey writes: "Some tell us that following Jesus is a simple matter of inviting him into our hearts. But when we do that, Jesus always asks, 'May I bring my friends?' And when we look at them, we see that they are not the kind of company we like to keep. The friends of Jesus are the outcasts, the marginalized, the poor, the homeless, the rejected—the lepers of life. We hesitate and ask, "Jesus, must we really have them too?' Jesus replies, 'Love me, love my friends!'" (Listening at Golgotha: Jesus' Words from the Cross)
Welcoming all people. It's a rather bold thing to put in a vision statement or on a church sign. "Welcoming ALL People." But if it is to be more than a mere declaration, we need to recognize it cuts wide and deep. It takes in folks that we would rather not encounter. It takes in the Sunday visitors, the homeless in our town, the struggling alcoholics, the skeptics, the children in our midst, and the children of Haiti and the world. It means making room in our hearts for the friends of Jesus. Not just some of them. Not just the ones we like or approve of. But all of them, every last one.
Might Saugatuck always be a place that welcomes all people. That is my fervent hope, and my fervent prayer.
Amen.
John H. Danner