Fuzzy Reception

Now to one who works, wages are not reckoned as a gift but as something due. But to one who without works trusts him who justifies the ungodly, such faith is reckoned as righteousness. Romans 4:4-5

Sometimes we get fuzzy reception at church. Or more precisely, we get fuzzy about the concept "receiving": namely, that we need to do it.

Lutherans, ironically, can get so uptight about preaching justification as a free gift of God's grace--the idea that we can't "get right" with God, but only God's grace can "make" us right--that sometimes even our frenzy of focusing on God's grace can itself become a good work. I've chuckled before at the statement, "just preach the damn gospel!", but not just because I resonate with the frustration it expresses in an era of "self-help" sermons: also because saying "just preach the damn gospel!" is a law statement, meaning it commands a human action rather than announcing God's.

But as uptight as we can get about preaching grace, the grace does not necessarily find its way into our daily lives, especially our lives of faith. How many people do you know who have a "thing" at church: a particular way of serving, that they've probably done for years or decades, that they just wouldn't feel quite right not doing? I, and pretty much every clergy person, can relate to that. That's how we got here, after all. I love to lead worship. I love to share good news, especially when it's God's. I'm not exactly sure what I'd do on Sunday mornings if not that.

And see, that's kind of the point I'm making. My piety--the way I practice my faith--is all about doing. It's about serving. It's about making stuff happen. It's about "asking not what my church can do for me, but what I can do for my church." In short, when this kind of piety runs amok, it's all about me. The gift becomes something I am giving to God, rather than what I'm receiving from God.

Mind you: OF COURSE, doing stuff is good. If you want to vent to me about how volunteerism seems to be dying, I'll listen, and I'll happily vent some myself. Just yesterday, I was doing the CROP walk. I was pushing my son's stroller through the streets of Catonsville in the truly incomprehensible 90-degree weather of an October Sunday in Maryland, when my phone rang. And who was it, but the good old Red Cross, asking me to donate blood. Has it been six weeks already? I politely said it was not a good time, but that I would get online to find a time to donate real soon. And I probably will. But as I wiped the sweat off my forehead, I thought, "You know, if a few more people my age took the time away from 'Breaking Bad' to do something for somebody else, I'd feel an awful lot less guilty about taking a nap right about now, and it probably wouldn't even be interrupted by the Red Cross." That's where my head went, and I'm not happy about that. Because when I think like that, my faith becomes about me.

Christians for whom Communion is a regular thing, let me ask you something: do you "take" Communion, or do you "receive" it? Not to quibble about words, but there's a difference. To "take" Communion is to walk right down that aisle, and grab your salvation with your own five fingers. To stick your paws right up there and snatch that bread and wine, and make that grace thing happen. Or...do you receive Communion? Do you walk down that aisle hardly able to believe the good fortune that the Holy Spirit has breathed life into you, and given you trust enough to show up, even if your every question is not resolved? Do you hold your hands out like a beggar's, bewildered that such a treasure could fall into them even once, let alone once a year, or for goodness' sake, once a week! Do you "receive" in the sense of a passive verb: in which God is truly understood as the active "giver"?

I say this next bit understanding that there are legitimate, grace-filled reasons to disagree with me, but here's what I think: I would rather not hear my own name spoken by the one who's giving me Communion, because heaven forbid that I ever believe "Tim" brought a single, solitary thing into that equation. I bring nothing, and I deserve nothing. At the table, my name is "for you," because it is Christ who gave his body, shed his blood, and rose again. I am simply receiving.

Maybe this doesn't make much sense, because the life of a "giver/worker" versus the life of a "receiver" of God's grace, might not look all that different. Both would likely help an old lady with her groceries, or make a fool of themselves collecting money to fight hunger, or take time out of their schedule to vote or give blood or whatever. But I've seen the paths diverge more as folks grow older.

Most all of us hardworking American types are more comfortable being the "giver/worker", which makes it all the more difficult when we feel we have less to give than we used to. I've sat with folks who are ill, and folks who have spent years or even decades just gradually slowing down, and if those folks are not used to just "receiving," this time of their life can be confusing. I am losing count of the number of people who have wondered aloud why God wants them alive. As if their ability to set up chairs or cook for potlucks or write notes is what merits their walking this earth and breathing this air. I have a feeling that Jesus would strongly disagree with such an assessment.

I've done some reading about the Jewish concept of Sabbath, and I think that if you do it right, it's just about the most grace-filled thing you can imagine. It's a time of laying low, and remembering that our running and doing and serving never did keep this world turning around. God does that just fine without us. And so we sit, and listen, and receive: we connect ourselves back to our infancy, when that was all we could do, and forward to our final days, and our death, when that will again be the case. And I haven't been through it, obviously, but I think that some practice will make those days easier.

So my suggestion (and I want to figure out how to follow it myself) is that every person of faith take a Friday, Saturday or Sunday (depending on your tradition) now and then, and make it your job to "receive." to work on not working. To serve by giving others a chance to serve. Let God be God. God will do it one way or another, but this time, maybe we'll notice.