Increase in Us True Religion: A Sermon for Proper 17

In her sermon last week, Emily said, “[The fact] that Jesus himself was subject to suffering and death…allows God in Christ … to be present with suffering in a way that those focused on avoiding suffering and death cannot be.” And this understanding of who Jesus is carries us perfectly to our gospel lesson for today. For those disciples who were still wrestling with Jesus’ question “Who do you say that I am,” this teaching from Jesus was a difficult pill to swallow. Upon hearing Jesus say that he must undergo great suffering and be killed, Peter rebuked Jesus – “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” Just moments prior, Jesus had praised Peter, saying that it was on him that Jesus would build his church, and it was to him that Jesus would give the keys of the kingdom of heaven. But Peter didn’t even have time to put his brand-new keys to the kingdom on his keychain before Jesus said, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me…”. 

Peter couldn’t bear the idea that Jesus would suffer and die the way Jesus described. And whether he had the time to make the connection or not, ultimately, Peter couldn’t bear the idea that he too would have to suffer if he continued as a follower of Jesus. “Victory” over one’s enemies, and victory over the powers of sin, death, and evil, would have to be understood in an entirely new way. And honestly, who could blame Peter for not wanting the person for whom he had given up everything to follow to suffer and die? And who could blame Peter for not wanting to suffer himself? Isn’t it human nature to do all that we can to protect and preserve our lives? Like Peter, don’t we, at least most of the time, set our minds not on divine things but on human things?

After his quick conversation with Peter, Jesus clearly decided that he needed to have a… shall we say... “come to Jesus” discussion with his disciples. This would be a pivotal moment in his relationship with his disciples, as he told them they’d have to deny themselves and take up their cross in order to follow him. They would have to lose their lives for Christ’s sake.

Last week, the question for us was “Who do we say that Jesus is”…meaning, “How do each of us answer this question for ourselves? Today, we are faced with a similar sort of question. We know how the disciples ultimately responded to Jesus’ challenge to take up their cross and follow him. We know how they chose to lose their lives for the sake of Jesus, and how that led to eternal life for them. But what does it really look like for us to deny ourselves and take up our cross to follow Jesus? How does something as radical as “losing our lives in order to find them” manifest itself in our daily lives?  

What comes to mind for me is a discussion that I was a part of last week. I was on a congregational development training call with my fellow novices in the Order of the Ascension, and the issue of “high church vs. low church” emerged. Our facilitator, Fr. Robert Gallagher, has been a congregational development consultant in the Episcopal Church for decades. There isn’t much in the church that he hasn’t seen, whether it was directly as a priest or as a consultant to other parishes. In this discussion, he asked us to quit allowing the distinction between “high church” and “low church” to have any power or meaning for us. Robert believes that at the heart of the “high church-low church” controversy is people’s aversion to religion. So, when someone says that something is “too high church” or “too catholic,” what they likely mean is that it feels too religious. And the same goes for someone saying that something is “too low church, or too charismatic or evangelical.” Really, it likely just feels “too religious” to that person as well. 

For the most part, in the Episcopal Church, we have cornered the market on not being “too religious.” That is oftentimes what draws people to us. Former catholics like us because we’re not too catholic. Former evangelicals like us because we’re not too evangelical. Many people like us as much for what we are not than for what we are. That has been the case for the Episcopal Church for as long as I can remember. 

Growing up as a 4th or 5th generation Episcopalian, I was very aware of the fact that while my family was an active church-going family, we weren’t particularly religious. I came to recognize this most when I would spend the night with a friend and attended church with them. I’ll never forget attending First Baptist Church one Sunday with my friend and thinking something along the lines of, “Wow, these people talk and sing about Jesus very differently than we do.” It made me very uncomfortable. In an odd way, it all just felt too religious to me. Interestingly, I never attended a catholic church with any of my friends, but when I went in their homes, it also felt very different to me. There would be a crucifix hanging somewhere in plain sight, and there was always other sorts of religious art and nick-nacks. It all felt very strange, even though my family and I attended church most every Sunday. It too, felt too religious to me.

One could go into my childhood home and have no idea that we were Christians. There was no Christian art on the walls or coffee tables. You could find a Bible and a Book of Common Prayer if you looked on the bookshelf, but they weren’t on a bedside table. The only clue would have been at the blessing said before dinner. But even that wasn’t too religious. Some would say that we weren’t religious people, even though we attended church. Others would say that we simply had good taste. Of course, those who simply called it “good taste” is who we kept company with.

But is not being too catholic or too evangelical or too high church or too low church the essence of our baptismal identity? Is having good taste, and carefully placing ourselves in the neutral middle what Jesus is calling us to do? What I am getting at is more than just aesthetics. It’s about more than crucifixes, votive candles, contemporary praise music, and “Jesus-we-jus” prayers. 

What I am getting at is this - What might it mean to be unapologetically religious in all that we do, say, and believe? What might it mean to put our Christian identity first and foremost in every aspect of our lives? What might it mean to look at every dollar we spend through the lens of our Baptismal Covenant and Christian identity? What might our calendars look like if they were developed through that same lens? What might our vocations and peer groups look like? What might our investment portfolios look like? What might our pledge cards look like? These things are just as indicative as how religious we are as the decorations in our homes and the type of worship, liturgy, and prayer we are drawn to. These are the things that are a part of our Christian calling to deny ourselves and take up our crosses to follow Jesus. These are the sort of thing that put us on the trajectory of “losing our lives in order to find them.”

Thankfully, we are not in a context where our Christian identity will lead to torture and death like it did to Jesus’ first followers. But that doesn’t mean that leading with your religion this day and age is going to be met with a positive response. In my context growing up in the Episcopal Church, I’d have never described anyone I knew (even the clergy) as being a “devout” Christian. Again, that would have sounded too catholic or evangelical to my circle of family and friends. Many of us proudly identified as devout Seminoles or Gators, and would lead with that in various ways. But very few of us identified as devout Christians. How dressing up with warpaint on our faces and shouting a fight song that ends with the words “Scalp ‘em” was more socially acceptable than talking about our Christian faith to others is beyond me.  

But regardless of our denomination, and regardless of whether we identify as “high church” or “low church,” Jesus calls us all to be devout, passionate, and unapologetic holy followers of him. Such commitment will undoubtedly begin to make us more holy people. Not “holier-than-thou,” but holy. And the more that we continue to lose our lives for Christ’s sake, the more we will continue to find our new lives in Christ. The high church Eastern Orthodox tradition calls this growing in holiness process theosis; the low church Methodist tradition calls it sanctification. Whatever you choose to call it, clearly, it transcends the high church low church distinctions, thanks be to God. In this process of growing more holy, some of us might find ourselves lighting more candles and incense when we pray, and some might find ourselves lifting and waving their hands in the air when we sing. Either way, others will look at us with a suspicious eye because we are suddenly acting “too religious.” Of course, neither of these outward and visible signs are required for a devout and holy life, but more times than not, they flow from it. 

The more important point is, the extraordinary decision to take up our crosses and follow Jesus with devotion and passion will inevitably affect the ordinary decisions we make and the lives that we lead. It will end up causing us to deny much of what we have come to enjoy in our relatively safe, privileged, and “tasteful” lives. And it will cause us to lose the shell that is our old selves – our pre-baptismal, “old-creation selves” and fully embrace our baptismal identity and calling - the new creation that is in Christ Jesus. 

For me, the discovery of Benedictine spirituality was the game-changing moment in my religious journey. It was the Rule of Benedict – and finding a community of fellow Benedictines with whom to sojourn - that gave me the framework for not just being a Christian, but a religious Christian. This transformation has caused me to lose much about my life that I previously cherished and thought was essential. But it has also allowed me to catch glimpses of the life that I am called to take up my cross and find. And the Good News is that the figurative scars that we will receive and bear when we embrace a life that is unapologetically devout, holy, and religious, will pale in comparison to the joy we will feel when we behold the glory of the Son of Man coming into his Kingdom.