Kathleen Deyer Bolduc
Second Presbyterian Church
Sermons: September 9, 2007 - Access Sunday

"Fan the Flame"

　Once upon a time there was a church which gathered once a week and made a show of worship, simply because that was the thing to do.

They made newcomers unwelcome, and outreach? Outreach became a distant memory. This church clutched its wealth so tightly that the fire which warmed the stone sanctuary was rationed to one log per week.

And so the congregation gathered, Sunday after Sunday, their minds racing home to tables laden with food and hearths warm with crackling fires.

Until one day a stranger entered their sanctuary. What is the meaning of this, they whispered as the stranger, a child, uncombed and unkempt, crept quietly in the door. He made straight for the fire. He was thin, and obviously cold, and looked as if he had been sleeping outdoors. No one moved.

The boy, oblivious to their presence, picked up the fireplace poker and stirred the dying fire. Necks craned as the church members tried to get a better look at the boy. His back was humped, his smile crooked, his clothing ragged, his eyes bright blue and dancing. He waved the poker in the air, whipping it in arcs like a Fourth of July sparkler.

Stupid child, a man muttered. Dangerous, whispered a mother. He scares me, a young girl said, hiding her face in her father’s lap.

Still, no one moved. It was as if a spell had fallen. Scuttling to the back door where the logs were kept, the boy picked up a large block of wood with a grunt. He carried it to the fireplace and heaved it in.

A spark caught the log. The child laughed out loud. Face scrunched in concentration he blew and blew until, finally, a tongue of flame licked the underside of the log. The boy jumped up and down, clapping his hands. His enthusiastic antics sparked another tongue of flame, and another, until the entire log was enveloped. A chuckle erupted from his thin frame as the flame leapt high.

Suddenly, a rustle broke the silence as the old man nearest the fire arose from his seat. The eldest of the congregation, his heart ached with the sudden memory of what worship had been like in the days when the fire burned bright and warm each Sunday.

Walking toward the fireplace, he held out one gnarled hand to its warmth, the other to the boy. The child grabbed it, and tugged the old man to the pile of logs by the door. Together, they picked up the biggest piece of wood they could find. Carrying it ceremoniously, they pitched it into the fire, which now burned hot and bright and strong.

Have you ever experienced something like this? Has someone ever entered your sanctuary - someone whose behavior was out of the ordinary? Someone who looked different, sounded different, acted different?

We get set in our ways. We hold certain expectations for our worship experience. It will be quiet and dignified. No one will talk out of turn. People will sit quietly in their pews; they will stand when they’re told to stand, and sit when they’re told to sit. And communion will always be beautifully calm and holy. We tell ourselves that’s the way it’s always been, and that’s the way it always should be.

But then the stranger enters. Someone like the boy in the story. It might be someone with Tourette’s. It might be someone with bipolar disorder, autism, ADHD, or fetal alcohol syndrome. This person enters our worship service and upsets the calm and quiet of our perfect worship experience. We experience discomfort because they won’t – they can’t – follow the rules.

This not only pulls us out of our comfort zone, it can bring up a lot of emotions. It might make us angry. It might scare us. We may want to run away, or we may ignore the person who is making us uncomfortable. Some of us might start whispering to our neighbor. Someone may tell the person that their behavior is unacceptable – that they need to get it together or leave.

If you remember the story I started with, this stranger, this wild and unkempt boy, touches one of the members of the congregation. The stranger ends up fanning the flame of the old man’s faith, which we hope brought new life to this dying congregation. I’d like to share some true-life stories with you today – stories of strangers that became vital and contributing members of their congregations – strangers that effected real and lasting and faith-building changes in their places of worship.

Let me tell you about my son Joel. Joel has autism and moderate mental retardation. He is 22 years old. Because of his disability, Joel has had major behavioral issues over the years. When anxious, he used to pull hair and pull glasses off of people’s faces. We praise God that his behavior has improved dramatically the past couple of years, thanks to a new diet and supplement program.

But when Joel was 5 our hearts broke when the people of the church we loved were unable or unwilling to tolerate Joel’s behaviors. And so we searched for a new church, finally finding a worshipping community that welcomed people with disabilities.

And so Joel became, literally, a stranger at this new church. It took awhile for people to get to know us. We found that if we sat in the very front pew, we could make it through the first 20 or 30 minutes of the service. Joel’s feet were always swinging, so there was no pew in front of us for him to kick. His hands were always reaching forward, so there were no tempting heads of hair waiting to be pulled. And he loves worship music, so it was easy for him to stand up and conduct the choir along with the choir director (which I think made the choir director nervous, but he never said anything to us). Everyone was friendly to us, but I think there was some whispering going on.

On the first Sunday of the month, communion is served. We pass the bread along the pews, administering it to one another, saying, "This is the body of Jesus, broken for you." Likewise, we pass the wine to one another with the words, "This is Jesus' blood, shed that you might live." My husband and I allow Joel to take a piece of bread, reciting the familiar words to which he never seems to pay attention. He chews the bread, picking at the sticky stuff left in his teeth with his fingers, but far prefers the wine, which in our church is really grape juice. Again, we recite the words to him. "Joel, this is Jesus' blood, shed for you." He slurps down the juice and sticks his tongue into the cup, determined to get every last drop. Joel cranes his neck to watch as everyone else is served, and wiggles through the remaining quiet time. Taking communion with Joel is not a beautifully calm and holy experience!

One Sunday, the pastor raised the plate high in the air and proclaimed "This is the body of Christ, broken for you." Then he raised the cup, saying, "And this is the blood of Christ, poured out that you might live." Joel pulled on my sleeve. I looked down to see him grinning, his face lit up as if from within. He stood up tall, and tapped himself on his chest. "For me! For me!" he cried joyfully. He turned around to the people behind us. "For me!" he repeated. "For me!"

Ordinary time stopped. All that existed in that moment was the radiant look of understanding on Joel's face. Joel knew that God loved him. On a spiritual level he knew that God had sent Jesus for him. My body remained in the front pew of College Hill Presbyterian Church, but my spirit stood in the sacred presence of God. I believe that many other people in our church stood at the throne of God that day, also.

Today, going to church is one of Joel’s favorite activities. He is an important part of our worshipping community. He’s the stranger who helped the congregation to understand that we worship from the spirit, not from the intellect.

Let me tell you about Jane. Jane has bipolar disorder. When Jane’s not taking her medication, her mania can get out of control. The first Sunday I met Jane she was running up and down the side aisles of our church banging a tambourine and singing at the top of her lungs. The worship band was playing, but everyone could hear Jane above the music. Heads started turning. People were whispering. Who is that, and what is she doing? Jane yanked a lot of people out of their comfort zones that day.

But the pastor took the time to get to know her, and he discovered that Jane used to be a professional singer. She was asked to join the choir, where she now uses her gifts regularly. Her new friends at church gently remind her to stay on her meds, which are necessary for her success in the world.

Jane is the stranger who provoked much discomfort. But once someone looked for the gifts beneath the behavior, a perfect fit was discovered. An invitation was all it took for Jane to become a contributing member of our congregation, using her talents to the full.

Coming back to the Scriptures we started out with this morning: From the Old Testament, "Enlarge the place of your tent, and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out; hold not back, lengthen your cords and strengthen your stakes." Isaiah 54:2 (RSV). This is not a suggestion. It’s a command! No other law appears as many times in the Hebrew Bibles as the law to welcome the stranger. In order to welcome the stranger, we have to make our tent larger – not only our physical tent, but the tent of our heart. And yes, this can make us uncomfortable.

But we’ve also seen the gifts that the stranger brings if we’re willing to step outside our comfort zone – outside of the box we’ve so neatly drawn around ourselves and our expectations of the worship service. Each stranger brings a new gift – a new story to our community. They widen our horizons – they help us to see with new eyes. They can bring transformation to a church that is stagnant, as in the story we began with.

Let’s look at the New Testament lesson again: "For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands. For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love, and of self-discipline." 2 Tim 1:6-7 (NIV) We are each given the gift of the Holy Spirit, and together our gifts make up the Body of Christ – our gifts complement one another. We’re each given the gifts we need to carry out our responsibilities within the Body.

God doesn’t promise us that we won’t find certain parts of our life in the Body uncomfortable, or the requirements that God has established difficult to meet. But he does promise us his power! He promises us Holy Spirit power.

It very well could be that the gift of a stranger you welcome might be just what is needed to fan into flame the gift of God for someone who has not yet experienced a deep realization of the Lord’s presence.

In conclusion, I’d like to read the last two paragraphs of the story with which we began. Close your eyes, and envision someone you know in the place of the boy, the stranger, in this story – envision a familiar face of someone who God might be calling you to invite to worship

Suddenly, a rustle broke the silence as the old man nearest the fire arose from his seat. The eldest of the congregation, his heart ached with the sudden remembrance of what worship had been like in the days when the fire burned bright and warm each Sunday.

Preached at Second Presbyterian Church, Lexington, Kentucky, September 9, 2007
Bolduc © 2007     Reprinted with permission     All Rights Reserved