Potter
Jeremiah 18:1-11; Luke 14:25-33

September 9, 2007


The Christian Church has always been changing. We are still here in the centre of Regina after 125 years, yet among many other things, we are no longer Presbyterian, no longer Methodist, no longer worshipping under a tent, and we actually have quite a few trees surrounding our sanctuary.

A recent development in the North American Church is the so-called “emerging church movement.” The Emerging Spirit program targeted at young adults in the United Church shamelessly borrows the label, as it works to gather a younger generation who no longer buy into old patterns of organization and thinking. “Post-modern” is the buzz word where one recognizes that in this incredibly diverse world there is no one-size-fits-all kind of wisdom and truth. The situation in which we live determines the best kind of truth and ethical standards.

One thing disappearing from emerging churches is the old kind of denominational name - no more “First Baptist or First Presbyterian Church” or even Whitmore Park United Church. Instead, their names evoke a Biblical atmosphere - Solomon’s Porch in Minneapolis, Jacob’s Well in Kansas City and Vancouver. In Dallas there is a large black congregation that doesn’t quite fit into the Emerging mold, but then that’s the point, there supposedly is no mold. It is The Potter’s House, pastored by flamboyant Bishop T. D. Jakes. The name implies as does Jeremiah’s parable that God’s people will make mistakes and have to be remolded - or as I prefer - reformed from time to time.

Jeremiah’s imagery implies is that we are who we are shaped by God. Certainly, we make our own grievous errors, but God does not destroy us or throw us out into the garbage heap. Instead, we are remolded and reformed to begin again from the beginning. Most of us, most of the time, however, remain old pots - we resist being reformed and prefer staying ossified, cracked and flawed.

The Achilles heel of the emerging church is that in many places it is drawing huge congregations. It is popular, yet authentic religious faith distrusts popularity and large congregations. The problem is always that a large number of people come for the show, the entertainment. Jesus never seemed to feel comfortable in the midst of big crowds and more than a few times he sought refuge and solitude from them. Today, a great multitude accompanying him, Jesus turned around to them and turned them off. “If any one comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.” That must have thinned out the crowd. Then he piled the cross unto their shoulders, that most obscene and degrading of execution methods, and I bet even the closest disciples were starting to look around to see who was still there.

It’s that command to “hate” one’s parents which curdles the cockles of our hearts. It goes against the grain of just about every culture, in particular those cultures which show special respect and deference to the elders and people of advanced age in the community. In many a place it is just about the worst thing you can say about a person - that he has rejected his parents and been disrespectful to them. It happens, yes, but nobody really starts out intending to hate his parents as a strategy for being a Christian. Hate is the problem.

Eugene Peterson’s The Message translates the idea of hatred a little more gently: “Anyone who comes to me but refuses to let go of father, mother, spouse, children, brothers, sisters - yes, even one’s own self! - can’t be my disciple.” Clarence Jordan’s The Cotton Patch Version takes a similar tact, “If anyone is considering joining me, and does not break his attachment for father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, indeed - for his own life - he simply cannot belong to my fellowship. Anyone who does not accept his own lynching and fall in behind me cannot belong to my fellowship.”

So the procedure is to “let go” and “break one’s attachment” to parents and family. That’s a kinder, gentler approach which steers away from the immediate and repulsive anger of hating one’s parents. Letting go, let God.

Nevertheless, we are talking about this from the shelter of a largely Christian culture, in which to become a Christian raises very few eyebrows. I remember when certain evangelicals made it a kind verb chip on their shoulder to say - “I have become a Christian!” - the answer of many within the mainline church was “So what?” This is not the case historically or in many parts of the world today. Conversion to Christianity is a dangerous decision, politically because you literally could be arrested, and socially because you usually found yourself at odds with your family. Being disowned frequently carries pretty heavy consequences.

There is a large collection of stories of Christian martyrs in 7th century Iraq. To become a Christian was becoming epidemic for the Zoroastrian majority and the most common thread in the various tales is the violent opposition of the convert’s family, in particular among the noble elite of the country. To become a Christian meant to renounce the wealth and political influence and power and religious customs of a high-born citizen, as well as to reject the military and athletic skills normally associated with a great leader. Qardagh had all these qualities and assets and was named a regional governor by the King of Kings, but he threw it all aside when he was converted to Christianity by a monk who defeated him in debate about the origins of the universe. His father vehemently disowned him, and even his mother and wife were unsympathetic. Inevitably he was stoned to death, in the style of the earliest martyr Stephen, but he died only at the point that his own father threw the final stone. Hate was the word.

Jesus had not finished with his now thinning crowd. Two short illustrations, not really parables, make us see that letting go and breaking one’s attachment to things is more at the heart of what he meant. A builder of a tower and a king heading into war are unlikely examples for the Christian. The builder has to figure out all the costs before he begins construction, otherwise he will run out of money with a half-finished architectural monstrosity for which he will be roundly ridiculed. One has to know all that a task entails, all of its costs, including the fact that one is becoming an alien to one’s own family. Some begin the Christian life loudly, but when the pressures of family and culture challenge one’s allegiance, then too often you and I leave our Christian building half-built, unsuitable for occupancy and not pretty to look at either.

Would you imagine that Jesus used the example of war to preach the Gospel? Guess we should cut that part out of the Bible! A king has to calculate whether his army is able to defeat another army. If he figures he’s in hot water, he sends off an embassy and asks for terms of peace. Better to become a servant, even a slave, than dead and conquered.

Unless you renounce all that you have, Jesus declares, you cannot become my disciple. You have to figure out that being a Christian means holding on only to God and Jesus, having no attachments to possessions and relationships that will hinder your progress in the Christian life, matters that will make you have to give up your pilgrimage - or worse - force you quietly to slip into that great multitude hanging around the edges of Jesus’ company, pretending that you are still hard at work building that half-baked tower of your Christian soul.

When Jesus turned around and said the hate word, he was simply messing up and reshaping the flawed clay and enabling us to start all over again. Sure, it is shocking in an institution that proclaims itself as a location above all for families to talk about hating one’s parents. He definitely grabbed your intention! Jesus knew that anything you possess or love that makes you stop building that tower is just another god and too many gods spoil the pottery. Other gods are always of our making and being like us, they are dangerously flawed and can be the sources of real hatred. Thank goodness, our God allows us to reform and begin again with the only God there really is.

Preached by Robert Kitchen
Knox-Metropolitan United Church
Regina, Saskatchewan