About this time last year, the country was on the verge of a contentious national election.

Our nation was reduced to a political crazy quilt of Red States and Blue States, and it was around those colorful categories that the ideological battle lines were drawn.  

Much of the campaign rhetoric centered on controversies that were often described as "religious issues," such as abortion and gay marriage. Red partisans accused the Blues of launching search-and-destroy missions against faith-based values, while Blue partisans accused the Reds of hijacking Jesus to support their political agenda. 

There were so many attacks and counter attacks along purportedly religious lines that an impartial observer might have wondered if we were electing a president . . . or God. 

On election day, an exit poll determined that 80% of  people who voted for the winning Red candidate picked “moral values” as the issue that was most important to them.  This finding sparked endless debate over which party could lay claim to the moral high ground. During the following weeks, the Red and Blue camps continued  to exchange verbal venom in newspaper columns and letters to the editor. The Reds hailed their candidate's victory as proof that Blues are as comfortable with issues of religious faith as Dracula is with a cross. Blues countered that misguided conservative Christians were duped by a political propaganda wolf wrapped in spiritual sheep's clothing.

The “blue-red divide," in its broadest sense, continues to be fodder for print articles and cable TV screamfests.  Don't believe me?  How many stories have you seen or heard in the past few months about constitutionally banning gay marriage?  Teaching Intelligent Design as an alternative to Evolution in public schools?  Changing the law on abortion through strategic judicial appointments?  The morality of the war in Iraq?  Battles over public displays of the Ten Commandments? And who is morally fit to decide whether life support for someone in a persistent vegetative state should be continued? 

As Rocky Mountain News columnist Bill Johnson recently wrote: "Is there an issue vital to American democracy and survival today that is not being debated on religious grounds?" 

This debate often gets reduced to Right vs. Left, Liberal vs. Conservative, and other binary labels.  But sometimes, people don't even agree on how to label someone.  

For example, in that same article, Bill Johnson reported that comments by James Dobson had inspired a thousand members of a gay rights group to protest outside the Colorado Springs headquarters of Dobson's proudly conservative group, Focus on the Family. That same day, Johnson reports, Dobson and Focus were the subject of a demonstration by anti-gay activists from Pastor Fred Phelps’ Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, for being too soft on homosexuality. 

About that interesting paradox, Johnson wrote, "Somewhere, I believe God is smiling." I don't think so.  I believe the sight of people shouting at each other like angry contestants in a bad reality TV show, using religious terms as verbal ammunition in an uncivil war, makes God weep, not smile.

In one of the Ten Commandments cases this past year, Supreme Court Justice David Souter wrote this in the majority opinion: "The divisiveness of religion in current public life is inescapable." That statement may be true, but it's incredibly ironic. Do you know why? The Latin root for the word "religion" means "to bind together." Yet, self-described religious partisans of various stripes use religion--or what they would have pass for it--to tear us apart. 

Ever since the arrival of the first Christian pilgrims in colonial times, Americans have defined themselves as a religious nation.  Over the years, the religious diversity of America has grown, and today, there are more churches, synagogues, temples, and mosques per capita in the United States than in any other nation on earth: one for every 865 people. 

For more than three centuries now, we Americans have ordered our lives--and our laws-- according to widely shared moral principles that are woven throughout a rich tapestry of religious traditions.  The separation of church and state, enshrined in our national Constitution since 1791, seemed well designed to encourage religion in general by requiring the government to be completely impartial about particular faith traditions. 

So what happened?  How did religious issues turn into wedges that divide us, rather than bridges to bring us together?  How did our religiously diverse culture become so conducive to “Sneetch-ism”?  You remember the Sneetches, don’t you?  Watch. [video clip] 

So here's the question I want to pose this morning: where religion is increasingly being used to frame caustic national debates about some of the most personal and wrenching of subjects, what does it mean to be a "church"? Put another way, how do we "do church" in this contentious environment? 

I’m going to suggest some possible answers to those questions, but first, I know that some of you have been listening carefully for clues about my own “blue-red beliefs.”  And I don’t blame you, because we’ve been conditioned to listen that way.  We want to know if someone is a PLU.  You know: “People Like Us.”  Or are they an OOT: “One of Them.”  Well, you haven’t heard any clues about my beliefs on any particular issue--and you won’t.  Because for purposes of this discussion, they don’t matter.  And if you spend the rest of the sermon listening for PLU or OOT language, you’ll miss the whole point of my message, which is this: the question isn’t whether we’ll have disagreements in the church—we will. 

The question is, how will we deal with them?  When Christians of good conscience disagree, how partisan will the discussion be?  Will we work together to find common ground by moving to higher ground?  Or will the language of our religious differences be couched in hurting words rather than healing words?  

To answer those questions, it shouldn’t matter what side of the “blue-red divide” you, or I, or anyone else, stands on.  That’s the point. 

So…what does it mean to be a “church” in times when politicians and pundits frame so many touchy issues in religious terms? 

First, I guess we have to decide on what we mean by the word “church.”  Nowadays, that term may cause many of us to think of the so-called mega-churches we see on TV, such as Pastor Joel Osteen’s Lakewood Church in Houston, Texas.  Some people like that image of church.  Some don’t.  For example, San Francisco columnist Mark Morford recently described them as “big, creepy mega-churches…most of which operate more like careening multi-tentacled corporations than humble homes of spiritual connection…galvanizing all those mad throngs of confused Christians….” 

Whew!  That’s tough stuff, even in San Francisco! 

Other people might associate the word “church” with a particular religious denomination, for example, the one that includes St. Luke’s: the United Methodist Church.  But even such groups of presumably like-minded Christians are currently suffering from their own forms of the “blue-red divide.”  For example, the Methodist church is increasingly seeing fault lines form around the issue of gay rights and the ordination of gay and lesbian clergy.  

As Reverend Janet mentioned in her sermon last Sunday, every four years a thousand Methodist laypersons and clergy meet in a legislative General Conference.  At their meeting last year, some delegates suggested that the United Methodist Church should split up along those fault lines, if the Conference can’t agree on a position—meaning, I assume, their position. 

These delegates were saying, I guess, that in order to “do church” together, people need to agree on issues of sexual orientation.  But consider this: according to our statement of Social Principles, which are the product of  more than two centuries of General Conferences, the church does not condone the practice of homosexuality; however, they go on to say this:  [slide] 

“We affirm that God’s grace is available to all, and we will seek to live together in Christian community.  We implore families and churches not to reject or condemn lesbian and gay members and friends.  We commit ourselves to be in ministry for and with all persons.” 

The Social Principles are not church law, but they are “intended to be instructive and persuasive in the best prophetic spirit.”  

To me, this language looks like a fairly broad framework in which we can address our differences while continuing to live as a faith community.  Contrast that to the church’s position on capital punishment: in recognition of “the power of Christ to redeem, restore, and transform all human beings,” the Social Principles say that “we oppose the death penalty…and urge its elimination from all criminal codes.”  Period. 

Now that’s pretty unequivocal, although Methodists and other Christians of good conscience can--and do--disagree over capital punishment.  Yet, I haven’t heard any calls to split up the denomination over that disagreement, which is, literally, a matter of life and death.  I guess those Conference delegates I mentioned would say that to be a “church,” we don’t need unity on all controversial subjects—just some.  I guess that view begs the question, which issues?  And who decides?  

 So…we could look to mega-churches and mainline denominations for what it means to "do church," but I'd like to get more local.  Much more local.  As in this church--St. Luke's. In one sense, we're a microcosm of Christianity. We probably reflect many of the same dreams and difficulties that you find in most faith communities. But in other ways I truly believe--and I praise God--that St. Luke's is unique in some really wonderful ways. 

For a church that claims a mainline Protestant heritage, I think St. Luke's is unusually comfortable with "creative chaos." Our people--you--are open to what God may be creating here that's new, whether it's an exciting and different music ministry, a challenging sermon series, or a critical look at a controversial new book. We don't seem to mind looking inside ourselves and reinventing how we go about ministry, as I think we'll see through the Appreciative Inquiry process that's just underway.  Some churches say their doors are open to all; I believe the people of St. Luke's--you--are especially ready and willing to sit down at the table in diversity. 

In short, I do not believe that this faith community we call St. Luke's UMC is plagued by those seven words that block progress in so many other institutions: "We've never done it that way before!" 

But that doesn't mean we all think alike here. On the contrary, as Reverend Janet reminded us last week, when it comes to our views on the source and interpretation of scripture, there's a broad spectrum of beliefs here at St. Luke's. You'll often hear that spectrum expressed in terms of "liberal" vs. "conservative" points of view.  But what do those terms really mean?  Webster's dictionary has nine definitions of the word "conservative." It has eleven for "liberal."  And Ambrose Bierce suggests this definition: "A conservative is someone who is enamored of existing evils, as distinguished from a liberal, who wishes to replace them with others."

Regardless of what definitions we use, I think that wherever you fall on the spectrum of biblical beliefs here at St. Luke’s, you have much more in common with the person sitting next to you than you have differences.  So I wonder if hanging labels like "liberal" or "conservative" on each other helps us to do what St. Luke's does best: exploring a celebrating our differences while serving the cause of Christ. 

So…we can look to mega-churches, United Methodism and other denominations, and local congregations like our own to decide what we mean by “church.”  But what do we read about that in the Bible?  The Christian movement found its first and most vivid voice in the letters of the Apostle Paul.  We often view him as a thinker and theologian, but first and foremost, Paul was the founder and pastor of local churches.  His thoughts were forged on the anvils of real needs and controversies in his congregations. 

Think about it: Paul’s catalogue of personal sufferings included beatings and imprisonment, but it was his parishioners’ infighting—fueled by a combination of confusion, pettiness, and religious fervor—that troubled him most. 

Nowhere was that more true than in Corinth, the first Christian community established by Paul.  [slide: picture of Corinth]  Now there was a church in disarray!  Corinth was the “Sin City” of ancient Greece—a large, metropolitan seaport where you could see or do just about anything.  If the Corinthian Chamber of Commerce had a motto, it might have been this: “What happens in Corinth, stays in Corinth!” 

The first century Christians living there were engulfed by this cultural swamp; it was coloring their views on everything from idol worship to sexual morality, and causing a lot of conflicts in the congregation. 

And so, in his second letter, Paul tells the Corinthians that he is writing to them “out of great distress, and anguish of heart, and with many tears.”  In passionately pleading for unity, Paul says that the Corinthians are a “letter from Christ…, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.”  Paul also tells them that they are “Christ’s ambassadors, as though God is making his appeal through [them].” 

Wow.  No pressure, huh? 

In these and other pleas for Christian unity, Paul tells us what it means to be a “church.”  He uses the ancient Greek term “ekklesia,”  which means “those called out.”  Paul wasn’t talking about a building, or even an institution.  He was talking about a community of  believers, who are bonded together through Christ, who meet together for worship and to share the Meal of Thanksgiving—Communion—just as we will in a few minutes. 

There are many New Testament passages in which Paul likens this body of believers—the church—to our human bodies, but I really like the way St. Teresa of Avila said it:  [slide] 

“Christ has no body now on earth but yours; yours are the only hands with which he can do his work, yours are the only feet with which he can go about the world, yours are the only eyes through which his compassion can shine forth on a troubled world." 

Compassion, meaning sympathy for the sufferings of others, plus desire to do something about it.  Building each other up—not putting each other down.  Working together in love to meet the challenge of the prophet Micah, to “do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God.”  Sound familiar?  That’s not just our benediction, it’s the language of a letter from Christ.  It’s the language of an ambassador of Christ.  It’s the language of  “church.”    

How do we speak that language, despite attempts to turn us into Sneetches, who treat people with different religious views as having “no stars upon thars”?   How do we “do church” when Christians of good conscience differ on important issues?  Here are four suggestions: 

First, we can respect diversity, using God’s creation as our model.  [slide—first bullet] Scientists have named one and three-quarters of a million species of plants and animals; they think there are millions more to be identified.  There are more than six billion people on the planet; except for identical twins, each person is entirely unique.  God obviously loves diversity of  life; why are we so bothered by diversity of opinions?

Second, we can indulge in a little healthy self doubt. [slide—second bullet] Eric Hoffer put it this way: “We can be absolutely certain only about those things we do not understand.”  According to a recent poll, three-quarters of Americans believe that every religion has at least some element of truth.  When we have disagreements within the church, perhaps we should consider the possibility that the other person’s view point has at least some element of truth.  Besides, as Henry David Thoreau said, “It takes two people to speak the truth—one to speak, and another to hear.” 

Third, we can accept the proposition that maybe—just maybe—we’re not supposed to know all the answers. [slide—third bullet]  “I would rather live in a world where my life is surrounded by mystery,” wrote Harry Emerson Fosdick, “than live in a world so small that my mind could comprehend it all.”  Maybe—just maybe—our struggle in reconciling differences in sincerely held beliefs is part of God’s plan for human growth.  Maybe Socrates got it right when he succinctly said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”  

Finally, when the three preceding suggestions don’t work, and we find ourselves on opposite sides of battles in the church, we can remember just whose church it is.  As Pam read to us earlier, in response to Peter’s confession of faith, Jesus said, “On this rock I will build my church.”  Theologians have debated the interpretation of this powerful statement for centuries.  Those debates often generate disagreements.  

For example, traditionalists cite the passage as proof of Peter’s (and by implication, men’s) apostolic leadership.  Feminists decry it as  evidence of  sexism in the early church, designed to undermine Mary Magdalene’s (and, by implication, women’s) role as disciple. 

I think both sides—and perhaps most of us—are missing the point.  The focus of the passage isn’t Peter—it’s Jesus.  “On this rock I will build my church.”  Did he say, “On this rock I will build Peter’s church”?  No, he didn’t.  Did he say, “On this rock I will build Mary’s church”?  No.  He said, “On this rock I will build (say it with me now) my church.”  [slide] 

How will remembering this help us, when healing words are abandoned by religious partisans in favor of hurting words?  Did Jesus say, “On this rock I will build my red church”? (Say it with me now.)  No.  Did he say, On this rock I will build my blue church”?  No.  Did he say, “On this rock I will build my men’s, women’s, right, left, liberal, conservative, gay, straight, creationist, evolutionist, pro-life, or pro-choice church”?  No.  He said “On this rock I will build my church.” 

As members of the body of believers, we may be the only “Bible” that some people ever encounter, the only “Sacrament” they ever witness.  As ambassadors of Christ, what language will we use to debate our differences? Will our “letters from Christ” be written in words of hurt…or words of healing? 

In finding our own answers to those questions, may we all remember just whose church it is, anyway. 

Amen.