Spiritual depth fuels courageous faith. Genuine
prayer compels just action.
When I was an undergraduate student considering
a call to ministry, I heard Peter Storey preach
the baccalaureate sermon for the graduating
class of Duke Divinity School. Dr. Storey, former
United Methodist Bishop in South Africa, was a
consequential leader in the faith-based opposition
to the apartheid system, first as pastor in Cape Town
and then as chaplain to Nelson Mandela and other
prisoners on Robben Island. Storey risked his life
to defend and preach the Gospel’s message of a
God who shows no partiality. As long as I live, I will
never forget the piercing call that closed the sermon
to these soon-to-be pastors. Bishop Storey said
this: “Until you lead your congregation to engage
with the real world, your pastoring will be mere
pampering—your proclamation a religious version
of talking to yourself. You must resist with all your
might the temptation to play ‘church’ while the world
bleeds.”
The last two Sundays, we’ve heard how the Letter
of James directly confronts this lifeless approach
to Christian living, self-righteously satisfied with
spiritual ceremony. We’ve heard how James shouts
across the centuries. It is not enough! Like Amos,
his prophetic muse, Brother James will not let us
get away with pretending, pampering, posturing,
playing “church.” So, for four and a half chapters, he
condemns worship without work, belief that fails to
change behaviors.
And then, at the close of the letter, James turns
to the topic of prayer. It might seem like an
incongruous interruption to end on a spiritual
subject after concentrating the majority of his
content on the concrete. Indeed, some scholars
have suggested that the fifth chapter of James is a
later addition to the letter, added by editors. Others
simply suppose that James was trying for a soft
landing after such a hard-hitting letter. A gentle,
pastoral closing. I disagree. I’ve known preachers
like James. They always save some thunder for the
final flurry. And I am convinced that is precisely
what James does here. His message has not
changed. Genuine faith compels just action. Spiritual
depth fuels courageous faith. We cannot divide our
devotion from our discipleship.
Dr. Kenda Creasy Dean, professor of youth, church,
and culture at Princeton Seminary, has done
remarkable in-depth research on the kind of faith
that many congregations are teaching their youth.
She has not been impressed. Dean labels the
message moralistic therapeutic deism. Some key
features: The highest objective is to feel good about
ourselves. God’s chief role is to resolve all of our
problems on our terms and our schedule. Prayer
is conceived as a credit card swipe on the divine
vending machine. Prayers go up; answers come
down. It is a theology that asks or demands almost
nothing of us. An invitation to play “church.” And we
see it across the landscape of American Christianity,
from the sanctimonious hypocrisy to narcissistic
spirituality to the alarming rise of Christian
nationalism. And we should call them what they
are—these are idolatries parading as piety. They lack
any trace of transcendent truth.
And so, it should not be surprising that these
messages are closely correlated with a precipitous
decrease in faith commitment among emerging
generations. And we, driven by fear, have responded
to this deafening cacophony with timid whispers,
with subtle self-restraint.
It is time to shift course. In the context of divisive
diatribes that only aim to feed our egos, the
message of the Church must be this: Following
Jesus Christ will change your life. Being a disciple
will push you beyond your comfort zone. Belonging
to a church will transform you. Yes, I think church
membership should come with a word of caution, a
warning sign. If you choose to pray, prepare yourself
to be confronted with the call to act. Warning! If
you commit your life to Jesus, you will be changed.
Spiritual depth fuels courageous faith.
Which brings me to our confirmands. It would be
easy, I think, to mistake this morning’s service for
something like a commencement ceremony or
an honor society induction. The liturgy and the
choreography will seem safe, formal, ancient. But
please do not be fooled. What is happening here
today is the most important work in the world
because the words we speak, the promises you
make, matter. When God’s people pray, things
happen. We put ourselves before God in all of our
vulnerability, with a mix of faith and doubt, and
we say, “Here I am.” And we pray, “God, use me.”
Warning! When you speak those words, brace
yourself for what is to come.
In my experience, the prayer of the righteous is
powerful and effective because those prayers
compel the kind of action that is a living response to
the words spoken. The African proverb puts it this
way: “When you pray, move your feet.” When we
really pray, we will not be content to play “church” in
a bleeding world because our prayers will push us
into those places where our words meet action. And
this kind of faithful living will provide a compelling
witness to a watching world. A witness that begins
right here.
One of the most extraordinary gifts that we unwrap
every single time we gather at Second Presbyterian
Church is the presence of every generation currently
alive under the same roof. Right now, in this space,
we have infants in their parents’ arms alongside
nearly empty nesters. We have high school seniors
and more seasoned seniors well into their tenth
decade. This morning, Gen Z shares the pew with
the greatest generation. It is truly remarkable if you
consider for a moment: Where else in your life does
this take place? I’m willing to wager it’s rare in this
culture so carved up by age and stage of life.
The question is how we make faithful use of a
community where all generations gather to pray.
I think we listen. I think we build relationships
across divides. And so, over the last few weeks, I’ve
listened to our confirmands and our high school
seniors preparing for their Footsteps of Faith
journey. I’ve read their faith statements, and as I
listen to their stories and read their statements of
faith, one thing stands out. They desire a faith, and
a church, that walks the talk, that practices what it
preaches. They have no interest in playing “church”
or becoming moralistic therapeutic deists. They
have no interest in cowering in sectarian silos that
reflect the polarization of the culture. They want to
be challenged by you. They want to follow Jesus.
I have heard their voices. And, as I have, I have also
reflected on the generations that speak to precisely
that longing. The witness of those who have prayed
and then put their lives into God’s hands, who have
moved their feet into places of danger. And we need
to remember that kind of courage that is a gift of
the Spirit given to all those who pray for it. We need
to tell the stories of that courageous faith to our
children and our youth whose convictions are being
shaped here. We need to tell those stories, and the
good news is we don’t have to go far to find them.
Two years ago, Rev. Dr. Ray Bowden died at the
age of ninety-five years and six months. Ray joined
the staff of Second Church in 1985 for what he
described as a brief, final chapter in ordained
ministry. That brief, final chapter lasted thirty-five
years here. Anyone who encountered Ray Bowden
knew him to be deeply spiritual. He was even pious.
Ray was also a pastor who refused to play “church”
while God’s people were suffering. In April of 1968,
after the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., Ray
organized a memorial service and then a communal
meal in the basement of his Kansas City church.
He did something he should not have done—no
white Presbyterian clergyman should have done—in
April of 1968. He invited the grieving, reeling Black
teenagers who lived in the neighborhood and
offered them, in that church basement, a safe space
to process the mix of anger and sadness that they
were feeling.
In 1968 this was an act of courageous faith, and it
came with significant risk. Word got out. For several
weeks Ray received threatening phone calls at
home and in his office. One evening, after large
rocks were thrown through the windows of his home
while his children were there, he decided to take
the rest of the family out of town to keep them safe.
When he returned, he found a cross that had been
burned on his front lawn. It was Good Friday. So, Ray
went to church. He heard the words of scripture, the
cries of the crowd. Crucify him. The judgment of selfrighteous religious leaders, and the words of Jesus
from the cross. Forgive them. Ray prayed all the
way home, and reflecting later on the experience,
he wrote, “I felt as never before the assurance that
Christ alone can give when one is receiving threats
and hearing angry, unjust, undeserved words.”
His courage renewed, Ray continued the work of
prophetic preaching and action for decades to
come.
Now, it is tempting to think of this story as
extraordinary. And, in a way, it is. But at a deeper
level, Ray’s witness illustrates what can be true for
you and for all of us. It’s the kind of message that
has the power to renew the Church. Stop playing.
The world is broken. People are hurting. Spiritual
depth compels courageous faith. Right now, in your
life, there are opportunities to embrace the work
our worship demands. It must begin in prayer, and it
must not end there.
Because when we pray, we will not be afraid to put
our faith in action.
When we pray, God will change us.
When we pray, God will give us courage.
When we pray, God will guide our steps.
Second Church, it’s time to move our feet.
We are a people formed by the story of a
transcendent God who chose proximity over power.
And we can do the same.
Actually, that’s not quite right. We must do the same,
for so much depends on this. Amen.