It’s a delight to be back among you once again.  This year, flying as it is, continues to be a significant blessing in our life.  Diane and I have so much enjoyed being back among you and when I think about how fortunate I am to ride a three-point urban circuit now in retirement, I rejoice.  My friends tease me about my three-point charge, but to be able to be back at North Broadway, to serve a predominantly African-American congregation, and at the same time to now seek to work with an old downtown First Church around its potential revitalization, I feel as if God has placed me in these places for such a time as this, both for the lives of those institutions and for my own life and ministry.  So I am indeed grateful to be with you and grateful for this season of ministry this season in my life.

The gospel lesson Pastor Deb just read from the gospel according to St.  Matthew, recording words from Jesus to the 12 can be used in at least two different ways.  On one hand, it can be approached as instruction for a disciplined living of institutional life, both in the early church and in the church in each and every generation.  It can also be approached as a primer for relational well-being among the people of God in this and every generation.  It is this latter possibility that we will proceed with today.

A number of years ago, I was the pastor at Epworth Church in Marion, Ohio.  We’d come a mighty long way.  There had been deep divisions, scandal, the community was experiencing 20 percent unemployment, divided red and blue, Republicans/Democrats, city/county – a very difficult situation, but we’d come a long way.  And the church was at a kind of high point.  It was good to be a part of the ministry of Epworth Church.  And then, we engaged in one of the two most controversial subjects a congregation can approach – namely, whether or not the American flag should be in a prominent place in a Christian sanctuary.  I can report to you from considerable experience that, with homosexuality, this is the most controversial subject that can be raised.

On one hand, there were those of us who suggested that it would be good to remove the flag because the sanctuary is a place of prayer for all people and should not be seen as a national shrine.  On the other hand, there were those who saw the flag differently, as a symbol of what was rich and deep and meaningful in their lives.  And so, the process unfolded, as processes do.  The vote came in the Administrative Council and we won, by golly.  Our side won! But before I could celebrate the victory, I looked into the eyes of Wayne -----, who was our neighbor and my friend, and I could see the woundedness in Wayne’s eyes.  It wasn’t about losing; it was about something deeper, more profound.

And so we broke bread together the next day and I listened as Wayne told me that when he sees the flag in the sanctuary or any other place, what he sees are those men that he sent up the hill during the Second World War, none of whom returned.  And so he said, “Joe, to me it’s not about a present-day political skirmish.  It’s not about what’s liturgically correct.  It’s about my brothers, now gone.” Hearing that, several more of us gathered on each side of the divide.  We talked and we listened, and as a result, we jointly agreed to reconvene the church council.  The previous vote was unanimously rescinded and we worked out a compromise – not totally pleasing to every side, to every position at each side, but a compromise nonetheless.

In order not to win, not to lose, but in order that the community and the body of Christ might be enhanced, for you see, we are not in the church, like in a club or a clique, we are not in the church birds of a feather who have somehow just flocked together.  But rather – now look around – rather we are a rare and strange amalgam of birds.  We are strange and rare birds who are joined together not in our sameness but by the precious wondrous grace of God made known in Jesus Christ.

Later, during my time here with you, I recall that in the height of the DOCC experience, when we were engaged in integrating the stuff of the faith relationally within and among us, that one in our group closed his place of employment on a particular day in order that he might go with a DOCC mate to stand before the magistrate, to do this because the DOCC mate had been arrested the previous week with an open container of alcohol beside which on the front seat of the car was a loaded revolver.

Now, the one who closed his business went with his DOCC mate neither to condone poor judgment and terribly bad behavior, neither that nor to throw the rascal out.  But rather he went with him to enhance understanding and community within the body of Christ for Christ’s sake and for the sake of a troubled soul, for a troubled soul who bore and bears, like each one of us, the image of God.

Reuben Job, in his marvelous little book that we will begin to study this Wednesday entitled “Three Simple Rules”, taken from the teachings of John Wesley, suggests that one of the simple rules for Christian community, for individual Christians and for our ministry in the world is simply to “Do no harm.”  To do no harm with one another, with all others and within the church itself, so that all, not just some, but so that all might be saved.

If another member, Jesus said as Matthew tells us, of the church sins against you, go and sit and listen.  You and I represent the community of Christ.  We represent Christ in the world.  And despite all the woes of today’s institutional church – and with you I can tick them off: shrinking numbers, not enough money, divisions within and without – despite them all, whether we like it or not, we represent Christ.  We are Christ’s hands and feet, not only in here but out there, as people seek at a profound level today, seek meaning and purpose.

Two memories poignantly flood my consciousness as I think about this and as I hear Jesus through Matthew speaking to us about how we are to behave relationally.  One image was from here, really from the narthex here.  The other image is from a long time ago, 1966, the basin in Cincinnati, Ohio.  If you know anything about Cincinnati, you know like Rome it’s built on seven hills and people are judged economically and socially by where they live on the height of the hill.  We were in the basin, at the bottom, where the movie “Traffic” was recently filmed.

We sought in ’66 – the nation, the community divided about Vietnam, about black and white, about poor and rich &ndash we sought to minister in the midst with youngsters playing basketball in the park with the black kids and volleyball in the gym with the white kids, trying to find some game that would get the two together.

A young black youngster was in the sanctuary, a service of worship, the sanctuary up on the second floor.  The service was under way, the Cincinnati Police came into the sanctuary, wrested him from his pew and took him out.  I was irate, as you might imagine (a much calmer person today than I was then), but irate nevertheless.  And when I learned why it was he had been escorted by the police from the sanctuary, I was livid.  Some in the in-crowd had suggested that he had pulled a knife on one of the children of the in-crowd, when all that was in his pocket was a set of keys.  And so, needless to say, that was not a tranquil week in the life of that congregation.

The lack of tranquility meant the next Sunday when I came down the stairs from the sanctuary up there, there were four guys waiting for me.  I think that probably they could have played on that defensive line that OU threw at the Buckeyes yesterday – they were that big and that scary.  We went into my euphemistically called office.  It was that big and they filled up most of the space.  And after they told me what they were going to do with me before the bishop, and I told them – well, I won’t tell you what I told them, but it wasn’t very preacher-like.

After that, God being who she is, the grandmother of one of them died, long expected.  We were buds.  She left these instructions: “Despite what you think about Joe, he’s to do my funeral.” And so we had to talk and we had to listen.  And we did, though a couple of those folks left and their families; others stayed.  Two years ago, the letter came.  “Just wanted you to know that over all these years, (the woman of one of the marriages, a white woman) I have been the volunteer receptionist at a community center, and eight hours a day I not only answer questions about the program but I relate with the black kids and their parents of this community and it has changed my life.”

When this congregation began to make a shift, it kind of snuck up on us.  And it was traumatic for some.  A shift from being a drive-in metropolitan more-or-less suburban congregation to an urban congregation in a stable but nonetheless urban community.  There were difficulties along the way.  There still are difficulties along the way, that’s the way life is.  But one difficulty was that some of us who are more set in our ways, who like things just so, were having difficulty with the behavior, particularly of some of the children who started to come.  They just didn’t do things the way kids used to do them.  And one of our number was not beyond reproaching them and their parents publicly, embarrassing them so much so that one family said, “We’ll never come back.” Conversations were held.  The superintendent came into the conflict.  We talked and we listened and we came to the understanding that fear can drive awful behavior with each one of us and that maybe a new order was to be in place and that if this person couldn’t be comfortable with it, in love we would help her find a new congregation, which we did.  In love, not in hostility.

I say these things because to do good, which Reuben Job says Wesley wants us to do, to do no harm but also to do good, means that we need to confront one another when goodness is not the order of the day in order that we might welcome and embrace one another candidly but also those out there who are yearning for the good news of the Gospel.  There is much good that can be done with each and every seeker in today’s world.  You and I represent Christ in the community, whether we want to or not.  If we loose on earth what needs to be loosed, it will be loosed.  If we bind it, it will be bound.  That is to say, people are set free by the good news of the gospel and we are mediators of that gospel when we dare to do good.

I personally never cease to be amazed by how when two or three or many more gather in Christ’s name, good things occur.  When two or three or many more gather, good things happen in Christ’s name.

Henri Nouwein, a wonderful Roman Catholic mystic priest writer, often reminded us that when we dare to transform hostility into hospitality and provide space for the spirit to work, miraculous things happen.  I saw, as you have, I saw this happen, not just yesterday, as I did, but I saw this in vivid and frightening detail some 40 years ago back there in Cincinnati where in large measure I was shaped as the person I’ve become.  The community divided, Stokely Carmichael in town to preach Black Power.  The Ku Klux Klan, Parkie Scott from South Lebanon in town.  Stokely speaking at Carmel Presbyterian Church.  The Klan outside encircling the building.  The congregation, 99.5 percent African-American save for five of us who were white – the Episcopal bishop, the Presbyterian pastor, two others and myself.

As we entered the building, the names were uttered, the derogatory derisive comments were made by the Klan, and as Stokely started to speak about black power, other derisive comments were pointed at us.  We were neither fish nor fowl, we were just there.  And in the midst, the primary advocate of black power in Cincinnati at that time called us out, asking if we would dare to go downstairs for a meeting following Mr.  Carmichael’s address.  We did, and as we were making our way there, Jimmy opened his coat so that we could see the prominent revolver in his belt.

As were seated at the table, Bishop Roger Blanchard, who knew Jimmy, said, “Jimmy, put your gun on the table.  It frightens me where it is.  It might go off and hurt you, or it might go off and hurt us.  Just put it on the table, would you please, and let’s pray together.” Jimmy did, and Roger prayed for the Klan outside.  He prayed for Mr.  Carmichael inside.  He prayed for the congregation and he prayed for us gathered.  And when the meeting then ensued, Roger made a commitment: I will, because I know that you do not have access to power, I know something of the oppression under which you live, I will move my office from Episcopal headquarters to City Hall so that you have access to me and, through me, to the power brokers of this city every day.

And things began to change.  They’re still changing; they’re not where they need to be, but where two or three gather...  When the church dares to loosen the binds that bound, miracles occur.

Back to Marion for a moment – 20 percent unemployment in the early ’80s (not quite that bad now but still pretty bad), city divided Republican/Democrat, the community, county and city wouldn’t speak.  But there were people living in houses with dirt floors with no plumbing.  And it became apparent that in the midst of such squalor and need, together something needed to be done, so we put Republicans and Democrats on a chartered bus.  We put county and city leaders on a chartered bus.  We put Catholics and Protestants on a chartered bus.  We put, well, a whole bunch or rare birds and strange birds together on a bus and two days before Thanksgiving in 1984, we went to Lima, Ohio, and saw those women from the Marysville Reformatory up there on the roofs of old houses, tearing them off and putting new ones on in order that Project Rehab in Lima, Ohio, might provide better housing for low and moderate income people, and we said, “Can we do at least that in Marion, Ohio?  Republicans and Democrats and Christians and Jews and city people and county people within six weeks had a 501-C3 called Marion Hand, Homes and Neighborhood Development, and inmates from the Marion correctional facility were brought out of jail, as most inmates should be brought out of jail in order to do work in the community, and for the next 12 to 15 years houses were renovated, the downtown hotel was turned into a place of sanctuary for the elderly, and the community was served.

Do no harm.  Do good, Wesley tells us through Reuben Job.  And then, Reuben tells us that Wesley also said, Stay in love with God.  If you’re going to do no harm and if you’re going to do good, then you better stay in love with God.  Doesn’t that sound good?  Isn’t it nice that we progressive Christians can talk about staying in love with God?  Let’s don’t give it over to the fundamentalists; let’s talk about and embrace staying in love with God.  That’s good stuff: staying in love with God.

But how do we do that if God is not a department store Santa Claus who disperses rewards and punishment from on high?  How do we do that if instead God, as I believe God is, is the source, power and presence of love and mercy and justice and creativity and forgiveness and reconciliation?  How do we stay in love with God if that’s who God is?  Is it too much to suggest that we simply follow Jesus, that we simply walk in the steps of the one who revealed the very heart and nature of God?  To walk with Jesus through passionate worship, disciplined study, much prayer, care for one another and others out there, and risk-taking justice-seeking action in the community.

That’s the demon today, that’s the demon in this world and in this society: The demon is fear.  And it’s promulgated wherever we go, to whomever we listen, it seems.  Staying in love with God, by following Jesus, we come to re-realize that good and not evil, hope and not despair, God and not the devil have the last word.  This is to engage together and with others in holy conferencing where God is at the table and we leave the table to do no harm but to do much good.

All of us have formative images that drive our lives.  The one that will never leave me that I’ll take to the grave, came to me in Kabul City, Afghanistan, a few years ago.  The young lad at the time was 10 years of age.  When we went to what was euphemistically called a hospital which really was a bullet-strafed piece of concrete where 300-400 orphan children were gathered three to four times a week in order that indigenous mental health workers might help them with their post-traumatic shock syndrome because all of them had seen or experienced the obliterations of their families and villages.

This little youngster was on the outskirts of the group.  I was told he had communicated not at all but that he had witnessed horrible things.  Our eyes caught, a connection was made, someone gave him a piece of paper that one of the teachers in our group had brought along, supplied him with crayons and he sat on the cement floor and with his deft little left hand drew for me a picture of the horror that was in his soul: Seeing the bombs drop onto the family farmhouse, obliterating his mom and dad, siblings and the farm animals.  In the picture, which hangs in my study that I touch every day, body parts are everywhere, animal and human.

A few days later, when the interfaith service was held there in Kabul City as I did my part in it, the little lad and I held hands and as we did, I was reminded then as I am reminded now, that he and his people are not my enemy, they are not your enemy.  The enemies of this present moment are ignorance and fear and greed, hostility, political manipulation and power mongering here, there and elsewhere.

What we are called to is the living of the three simple rules through Jesus Christ our Lord as articulated by Wesley and made popular today by Reuben Job, namely to do no harm in here, out there.  To do good in here, out there.  And to stay in love with God, for when we stay in love with God we know at least to some degree what it’s all about and who we are to be here and now and always.  Amen.