IF YOU FEAR CHANGE, LEAVE IT HERE

a sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
at the First Religious Society in Carlisle, Massachusetts
Sunday January 9th, 2005



[extemporaneous introduction]

I've been thinking quite a bit here lately about how much the meaning of the word "Red" has changed just in the course of my own lifetime. Nowadays to be a "Red" apparently means to be a socially-conservative Religious fundamentalist who typically resides in either the South or the Midwest, and for whom "moral values" was the most important consideration in the recent election. Which is, of course, vastly different from what it meant to call someone a "Red" when I was young(er). Back then (as I'm sure all ya'll already know), "Red" was slang for Communist, or perhaps by association, communist sympathizer (or what some today might call a "liberal") -- the radicals who invented Social Security, and not the ones who want to "privatize" it.

And I was delighted to discover (when I got to be of an age when I could appreciate what it meant) that I actually have authentic Reds on both sides of my family tree. The first was my mother's Uncle Al Glotzer, a New York Jew and fiery young Bolshevik back in the days when that actually meant something, who at one point even traveled to Turkey to consult the exiled Leon Trotsky on an obscure point of Marxist ideology, and was pressed into service as one of his bodyguards. And the other was my father's uncle, "Big Bill" Baldwin -- a minor Wobblie in the forests of the Pacific Northwest who was eventually blacklisted by the timber barons, and forced to eek out a living working in the underground economy as a shade-tree mechanic.

Of course, by the time I was old enough to appreciate what they had done, you would never have been able to tell by looking at them. My uncle Al was a semi-retired court stenographer who split his time between his rent-controlled Manhattan apartment and his modest place on Martha's Vineyard; while my uncle Bill turned out not to be my uncle at all: we learned at his death that he and my Auntie Lala had been living together "without benefit of clergy" for nearly half-a-century, not because "Big Bill" was ideologically opposed to the bourgeois institution of marriage, but because Lala knew that her own mother (my great-grandmother) would never have approved of her being married to a Red! And since Bill had apparently not filed an income tax return in all those years either, his estate turned out to be a real mess -- although I did inherit a box of rather interesting books, including a big bundle of Robert Ingersoll tracts and a hardbound copy of Edward Bellamy's utopian classic "Looking Backward."

The start of a New Year is a natural time for people to think about Change. It's part of our culture: this is the season when we gaze back retrospectively at where we've been, or look forward in anticipation of where we are headed, and if we don't like what we see, we resolve to change. Of course, contemplating change is a whole lot easier than actually changing for real, because there's always a price to pay for change, which brings me to the title of today's sermon: "If You Fear Change, Leave It Here." This was the small, hand-written sign taped to the tip jar in the espresso cafe in Eugene, Oregon where I used to go practically every day when I was finishing up my doctoral dissertation. I really liked this sign, because it struck me as just the right combination of subtle tweak to my self-consciousness about being such a strong creature of habit, as well as a clever reminder that there was something tangible I could do to break out of my own little self-absorbed world of dissertation writing and (in a small way at least) contribute toward changing someone else's life for the better. If you fear change, leave it here. Those seven little words were worth an extra twenty cents a day, or about a dollar a week, for the employees of the cafe who made my tall double non-fat latte every morning. Perhaps not a whole lot in and of itself. But when you multiply by the number of people who, life myself, visited that cafe on a near-daily basis, it starts to add up in a hurry.

We all have different reactions to change. Some people are so change resistant that even the slightest disruption of their familiar routine is enough to upset them profoundly, while others routinely like to shake things up just for the excitement of doing things differently for a change. But most of us, I suspect, are somewhere in between -- we appreciate the novelty of an occasional change of scene, while at the same time feeling nostalgic about the familiar things we hope will never change. And of course, not all changes are created equal; there are also various levels of change, some of which feel more disturbing than others.

For example, many so-called "changes" are merely superficial, or on the surface. The appearance changes, but not the real essence of the thing itself. Superficial change is sometimes compared to "rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic," but I'm not so sure this is really fair. Not every little bump in the night is a collision with an iceberg; sometimes, if all you want to do is get out of the wind, or maybe get a better tan, rearranging deck chairs is a perfectly good response. Furthermore, the notion of the "tipping point" suggests that sometimes small, incremental changes which improve quality in key areas, or a few select new additions which enhance what one is doing already, can often create a ripple effect which extends well beyond their immediate impact. And likewise it is also quite possible to attempt dramatic, sweeping changes which never really get beneath the surface of a problem, and often end up creating more problems than they solve.

The real secret to creating meaningful, effective, substantive change is to focus on changing attitudes as well as behavior. It is so much easier to do things differently when you have also learned how to see them differently, and this improved perspective -- a "changed mind" -- is not only the first step, but also the most important step, in creating truly significant changes in one's life, or in an institution, or even in society itself. Of course, not every new idea is a good one, and not all change is for the better. Yet generally speaking, the more expansive one's perspective, the easier it is to distinguish the good ideas from the bad ones. When we allow meaningless details to distract us from looking at the bigger picture, or a false sense of urgency to prevent us from taking a longer view, we end up running the dual risk of changing things that don't really need to be changed at all, while shortsightedly failing to change the things that will truly make a difference in the long run.

Which brings us at last to the most difficult, most challenging, and perhaps most frightening thing about change, which is the frequent failure to recognize that some form of change is not only necessary, but inevitable. The only thing constant in life is change. And yet, it also so happens that the more things change, the more they remain the same. And between these two truisms is the daunting task of distinguishing between reactive or reactionary change, which typically struggles to resist changes in the larger environment by reinventing the past as a bulwark against the future, and adaptive or progressive change, which attempts to anticipate these larger changes and respond to them in fresh, creative and innovative ways.

I want to change the subject here slightly for just a moment, and say a word or two about some of the changes that are taking place in the Church. And not so much this particular church, but rather "the Church" in general, beginning with the evangelical church, the "Red" church. Evangelical Christianity is no longer just the warm, fuzzy, feel-good religion I remember from when I was a kid. And who knows? -- maybe it never really was that way to begin with. But it seems to me that the Good News about redeeming lost souls through the power of God's love has taken on kind of a hard edge of late, and perhaps even developed a bit of a mean streak to go along with it. It's become more aggressive, and discovered a fondness for throwing its weight around in order to get its own way. The so-called traditional "mainline" churches, on the other hand, at times seem to have lost touch with many of their historically sources of inspiration: the Social Gospel, Liberation theology, the Civil Rights movement. As its membership has grown relatively older, and dwindled in absolute numbers over the past quarter of a century, the Mainline church has started to look inward, attending to the needs of its own remaining members and their children, and to the maintenance and preservation of its property and facilities, rather than attempting to save the world by serving humanity in a spirit of compassion and Social Reform.

In addition to its new-found political agenda, the Evangelical church has continued to explore new and dynamic forms of public worship, to develop strong, innovative teaching ministries, and to pursue its traditional evangelical emphasis on making new converts and "winning souls for Christ," together with more generalized missionary efforts intended to transform society and reshape it along "Christian" lines. Meanwhile the Mainline churches have, for the most part, continued to cling to their traditional forms and methods of worship and education, as if by preserving practices that are in some cases centuries old, they are somehow "keeping the faith" as well; and have often shied away from even the appearance of attempting to impose their own views on others, in the name of religious pluralism and freedom of belief.

These are all just generalizations of course, drawn from the research of those who study this sort of thing for a living. There are plenty of exceptions across the board -- exceptional churches who buck the trends and make their own rules, who embrace change rather than reacting against it, and take advantage of the opportunity to shape their own futures rather than clinging desperately to the past. They know that things are going to change whether they want them to or not, and have decided to change their own attitude about the need for change in order to become part of the cutting edge rather than one of its victims. So I thought I'd wrap up here this morning simply by talking briefly about three of the most common "attitude changes" within exceptional Mainline churches that have helped transform them into vital and dynamic spiritual communities for the 21st century.

The first of these is something I know some of you have heard me talk about on other occasions, and that is transforming an existing spirit of Fellowship to a broader spirit of Hospitality. Most churches see themselves as friendly places, and most of them are...for the people who are already part of the community. But often good intentions go astray: churches put up signs or even run advertisements declaring that "all are welcome," but then when someone new actually shows up at the door they are basically ignored (so as not to put any undo pressure on them), and then if they do decide to stick around anyway, they are quickly assigned to a committee, asked to make a financial contribution, and then carefully monitored by the more "experienced" members of the congregation in order to prevent them from attempting to make any changes to "the way we've always done it here."

It's such a common phenomenon that I could probably take this same sermon into just about any church in the country: Methodist, Baptist, Catholic, Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Unitarian -- it doesn't really matter -- and about half the congregation would be thinking "that's just what happened to me." And of course we never hear anything at all from the ones who decided NOT to stick around. But a Spirit of Hospitality intentionally seeks out newcomers, and invites them in as guests. People are greeted by name, and made to feel welcome just as they are, regardless of whether they really "fit in" or may eventually become active members of the congregation. The subtle distinctions between "insider" and "outsider" are minimized or eliminated; perhaps more importantly, the primary question of the day becomes "what can our church do to make our guests feel more at home?" rather than "what can these newcomers do for us?" A Spirit of Hospitality is not about church growth. Its about making sure that people who are seeking something different in their lives can find what they are looking for.

A second important attitude change is the transformation of an existing culture of Conservation and Stewardship into a Culture of Generosity and Abundance. Conservation and Stewardship are about the responsible use of scarce and precious resources, which are assumed to be limited and therefore need to be strictly and frugally allocated. It's a zero-sum game, which borrows from Peter to pay Paul, and where there is never enough to go around. A culture of generosity and abundance begins with a different set of assumptions. It assumes that "where your treasure is, there shall your heart be also" and then asks people to put their hearts into the things they truly value most. Churches never have enough money to do everything they dream of doing, but they always seem to find the money to do the things they really want to do, or feel that they they must. A culture of generosity and abundance lifts up a vision of possibility rather than one of neediness, and then invites people to become partners to help create it. Which is not to suggest that resources are unlimited, or should be allocated foolishly. But often it is only our own sense of limitation that holds us back, and when we overcome that, we become capable of accomplishing together more than we ever dreamed possible.

The final important attitude change I wanted to mention this morning is the transition from an ethic of Faithfulness to one of Mission and Vocation. The ethic of Faithfulness is about remaining true to one's beliefs, and to the values of one's society or community of faith. And there is certainly nothing wrong with that, just like there is nothing wrong with Fellowship, or Conservation and Stewardship either. But an ethic of Mission and Vocation asks that you go beyond mere faithfulness to a discernment of what you personally have specifically have been called to do in this world, and then offers the encouragement to actually go out and do it. In other words, it's not really enough just to "keep the faith;" one also needs to "spread the faith," to put it to work to make a difference in your own life and in the lives of others. Call to mind again that wonderful verse from the letter of James: "Show me your faith apart from you works, and I by my works will show you my faith." But it's not really a matter of "showing off" -- rather, we bring our faith to life by putting it to work, and thus give our lives larger meaning in the process.

Adopting these kinds of changed attitudes isn't always easy, especially if the other attitudes are working just fine for you, and you don't really see the need to change. But I also hope that as you continue to explore these themes in the weeks and months and years ahead, that you will remain open and receptive to the possibility of real change -- some of it apparently superficial, some of it more difficult and substantial, and some of it quite possibly deeply profound indeed. Because the work of the church -- of this church, and every church -- is to change people's lives for the better. And that is certainly something that none of us need fear.