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Worship Services and Sermons»Sermons
Title: Like Trees Planted by Water We are grateful to be here this morning at Greyfriars Kirk, having arrived in Scotland last night. It is a privilege to worship with you. We come from Minneapolis, Minnesota, in the U.S., where we are part of Westminster Presbyterian Church. By your standards our congregation is quite young, having been established only a few years ago, in 1857. Last year we marked our 150th Anniversary. We are calling this choir trip to Scotland, “The Kirk in all Ages,” from a line in the Scots Confession. It is the culmination of Westminster’s anniversary year celebration, and we are delighted to begin it with you here at Greyfriars. Let us pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your eyes, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen. The psalmist writes, “Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked, or take the path that sinners tread…Their delight is in the law of the LORD… They are like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither.” (Psalm 1:1-3) Like trees planted by streams of water. Water figures significantly in the biblical narrative. From the watery chaos of Creation, to the story of the Great Flood, through the parting of the Sea of Reeds, to the crossing of the Jordan River, to the baptism of Jesus in those same waters, and finally to the Water of Life flowing through the city in St. John’s Revelation, water is central to the story of God’s people. That certainly is true for the story of our congregation. Westminster Church was established in 1857 by eight Scottish and Welsh pioneers in a small mill town on the banks of a river – the Mississippi River, which has its source in our state. Over the years, our church, planted by that great stream of living water, followed the trajectory of the mainline American Protestant churches. As did the denomination, Westminster grew steadily through the decades, peaking in membership at 4,000 people fifty years ago. By the middle years of the 1960s, most mainline churches in America began a decline in membership that continues to this day. Westminster has been blessed by retaining its strength; nationally, the Presbyterian Church has lost about half its members since the 1960s. At one time Presbyterians and other mainline churches found themselves to be at the center of the religious, cultural, economic, and even political life of our nation; today the historic Protestant churches exist mostly on the margins of American life. Now we would more accurately be described not as mainline but rather as sidelined. Our spiritual life has atrophied; we have become a thirsty church made up of thirsty people who sometimes find themselves far from the streams of water that nourish. In response to what Canadian theologian Doug Hall calls the “disestablishment of the church” a new phenomenon emerged in American religious life in recent years: the Church Growth Movement. The language of free-market economics began to dominate our religious discourse. Parishioners became consumers in the religious marketplace. People began talking about “church shopping,” and congregations were encouraged to find their “market niche.” Theology mattered less than innovation. Tradition was tossed aside to respond to the perceived needs of the market. The Gospel became a product to be packaged and promoted. As with a market economy, growth became what mattered most, and the mega-church was born. A few years ago, Bill Easum wrote a book called Growing Spiritual Redwoods, as if those “trees planted by streams of water” were intended always to grow to enormous proportions. That became the prevailing assumption – that God desired numerical growth above all else – and pastors trundled off to conferences at various megachurches to learn how they could grow their own struggling congregations. Numerical growth became the measure of success for the church. We became addicted to a spiritual materialism, creating an insatiable desire for growth at all costs. But scripture points to something else. “They are like trees planted by streams of water,” the palmist writes of the faithful, “which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither.” The church is thirsty, and so are we. You and I are spiritually depleted, and until we find the source, until we drink of the water that nourishes, until we take in that living water, the leaves on the tree will continue to wither. The Bible proposes that we think in terms of sustainability about our own spiritual lives and about the lives of our congregations. The question we should be asking is not that driven by market economic principles: “How de we grow the church?” Rather, we should be asking ecological questions: What makes for sustainable spiritual life? What makes for sustainable Christian community? What does a sustainable congregation look like? Instead of trying to grow gigantic “spiritual redwoods,” we might instead work on developing trees that bear fruit it its season. We might check our roots, to see if they are going deep. We might seek after the spiritual sustenance that comes from the living water provided by God in Jesus Christ. Our choir is taking this trip, at least in part, to nourish ourselves spiritually. It is not only about making music – which itself deepens faith; after all, as Augustine said, “Those who sing pray twice” – but this pilgrimage also invites us to rediscover our roots. To learn of what we are made. To delve into our heritage and be fed by the traditions and stories of our forbears. To move a little closer to the stream of living water. Each day of the trip the choir will study and discuss a portion of the Scots Confession. Tomorrow we will ask this question of our 16th century ancestors, and of ourselves: “What do we confess about God?” It is a simple enough inquiry, but when was the last time we had such a conversation in church? What do we confess about God? When was the last time we paused long enough to go deeper? Sometimes we are so busy trying to produce fruit that we neglect the roots. A few weeks ago on another mission trip taken by a group from our congregation, this time to Cuba, I met a man named Daniel Izquierdo. He is now a minister of the Presbyterian Church on that island, but for many years he was an architect in a small town east of Havana. Daniel was a member of the local Presbyterian church. On Sunday mornings often he was the only person in church. The government made life difficult for active Christians. For many people it was easier simply to drop faith altogether. Daniel told me he worshipped there in that tiny congregation of one, reading the morning scripture, saying a few homiletic words, offering a prayer, occasionally singing a hymn. Week after week, year after year, he came to the water to slake his thirst, no matter the cost. “Ho, everyone who thirsts,” says the prophet, “come to the waters.” (Isaiah 55:1) Daniel thirsted, and he came. Today he is the pastor of that same church, and it is thriving. “Like trees planted by water,” the psalmist says, “which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither.” Jesus shared this same ecological imagery about Christians and the church we inhabit: “A good tree cannot bear bad fruit,” he said, “nor can a bad tree bear good fruit… Thus you will know them by their fruits.” (Matthew 7:18, 20) The challenge facing the church in the north in our time, in your land and in ours, and the challenge facing each of us as followers of Jesus, has to do with the roots of the tree, as well as its fruit. Are we finding the nourishment God offers, or are we spiritually depleted? Are the waters filling us, or are we parched inside? Are we giving evidence of our faith in God, as the Scots said in 1560, faith in a God “to whom alone we must cleave, whom alone we must serve, whom only we must worship, and in whom alone we put our trust” – or have our spiritual lives so withered that we can no longer give account for the hope that is within us? It all begins and ends in water. “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life,” John writes in the last lines of scripture, “flowing from the throne of God… through the middle of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit… and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.” (Revelation 22:1-2) May God help us drink from that water. Thanks be to God. Amen. Sermon Archive |
