As some of you already know, I
grew up in this congregation. Others may
be wondering, who is this guy and why is he here this morning? Or, I didn't even know Jimmy Simpson had an older brother... My name is Rich Simpson. My wife and I live in Worcester, Massachusetts. My mother, Peg Cox, turned eighty on Thursday, and her family all gathered to celebrate her last night: four kids, our spouses, the grandchildren and their partners, and six great-grandchildren. I was baptized across the street at St. Paul’s Lutheran, where my mom actually grew up. My dad grew up further down Church Street at Cole Memorial Baptist Church. In 1968, my family moved to the south side of Scranton for my dad’s work, selling insurance for New York Life. My parents went looking for a church and eventually landed at Elm Park United Methodist Church.
And that is how the Simpsons became Methodists. What is interesting to me in this story is not that a young couple went church shopping when they moved to a new community. That happens all the time. What’s interesting to me is that five years later, when my parents moved back to Hawley (now with four kids) and we moved in just across the street at 404 Church, which had an office in the back for my dad’s work, they remained Methodists. It would have been easy enough to return to either St. Paul’s or Cole Memorial and perhaps there was even a little family pressure to do so. I don’t know. But my parents had become Methodists and back in Hawley they remained Methodists. By my calculation, my mom has been here now for over fifty years, many of those in the choir.
Gail Wintermute was the pastor when I was growing up here. His wife Milly was my piano teacher. It was she who first said (probably realizing concert pianist was not in my future) “Richie, have you ever thought about becoming a pastor?” I emphatically told her that I had not. Yet after college I applied to Drew and this congregation sponsored me and it was here that I preached my very first sermon, which I’m sure those of you who were here then remember word-for-word. After graduating from Drew I was ordained at Elm Park in Scranton, where my parents’ journey had begun.
I want to get to today’s sermon, so I’ll spare you the rest except to say that a point came for me when I felt more at home in the Episcopal Church. I had nothing against the Methodists who had done right by me and certainly nothing against this wonderful congregation. I took inspiration then, and still, from John and Charles Wesley, whom I would remind you were both Anglican priests. But I felt, for various reasons, that I’d grow more into the full stature of Christ as an Episcopal priest than as a United Methodist pastor, and so I made that move in 1993. At the end of December, I retired after 32 years ordained as an Episcopal priest with 5 years prior as a United Methodist past.
Let's talk about the Sermon on the Mount. It’s hard to know for sure exactly which hill Jesus and his disciples climbed that day. The Sea of Galilee is surrounded by hills, and it could have been any one of them. More likely, it wasn’t just in one place on one day. Matthew, after all, is reconstructing what we call “the Sermon on the Mount” some fifty years or so after these events took place and Jesus probably went away with his disciples to escape the crowds more than once. So maybe they went to various places around the lake, or maybe they did have one favorite spot. Either way, he taught them over time, and they remembered what he said. Eventually the disciples passed those teachings on to the second-generation disciples and Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John wrote it all down.
Since the fourth century, however, pilgrims who have traveled to the Holy Land have claimed one particular place as the Mount of the Beatitudes. Whether or not it was originally the holy place, it has without a doubt become a holy place as pilgrims from north, south, east and west have gone there to pray for at least sixteen hundred years now. It is what is sometimes called in the Celtic spiritual tradition, a “thin place” where the hills are alive and Jesus’ words echo down through the centuries.
The current church on that site was built in 1938 and is run by the Franciscans. It’s a quiet and peaceful place that overlooks the lake, and as you look down the hill you can see so many of the places prominent in Jesus’ ministry, including Capernaum, where he made his home. The gardens at that Church of the Beatitudes are meticulously kept and you can walk and think and pray. It’s quite conducive to “considering the lilies of the field” and the “birds of the air.” So whether or not it is the place, I can attest to you that it is holy ground. I’ve been there ten or so times now, including once with your former pastor, my step-father, Marty Cox.
On that warm afternoon I spent there with Marty there nearly twenty years ago, there was a large group of Chinese Christians who beat us there. Their spirituality was not nearly as contemplative as our group’s. In fact they seemed downright boisterous! But as I watched them posing for a group photo, I was profoundly conscious of the fact that it cannot be easy being a Christian in China, and clearly being able to come as a group to the Holy Land made their hearts glad; and that made my heart glad too. It made me aware that in Christ there is no east or west, and that the one holy catholic and apostolic faith we confess isn’t just about our own personal spiritualities.
Blessed are the poor. Blessed are the peacemakers. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness… Today’s reading is a continuation of that time apart, as Jesus continues to deliver the Sermon on the Mount to his disciples. As Matthew tells the story, Jesus saw the crowds and was trying to get away…so he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. It is to them—and by extension to us—that Jesus goes on to say the words we heard today:
You are the salt
of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be
restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled
under foot. You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be
hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under
the bushel basket, but on the lamp stand, and it gives light to all in the
house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may
see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.
Elsewhere, Jesus uses the image of yeast as well. The Church is like leaven that makes the whole loaf rise. All of these are little metaphors, metaphors of smallness. If you want to make a loaf of bread you don’t just start opening up cakes of yeast. It doesn’t take that much. A little bit of yeast is all it takes.
Ditto with the salt. The late, great Lutheran Bishop, Krister Stendahl was fond of saying that Jesus told the church to be the salt of the earth, not to make the whole world into a salt mine! His humorous words suggest that our mission is not to make every person on the planet a Christian. Rather, Jesus challenges those of us who claim him as Lord to act like Christians. Because “if salt loses its taste, then what good is it?” Be salty!
Perhaps the most powerful of these metaphors, at least for me personally, is the call to be light. The Church is called to be a light that shines in the darkness, a beacon. You don’t need me to come here from Massachusetts to tell you about the darkness of the world. This world is God’s world and it is filled with beauty. But it can also be a pretty scary place: a place or wars and rumors of wars, of violence and degradation. Sometimes it can feel like someone has shut out the lights. Even darker still is the dark night of the soul. There are times in our lives when the darkness seems too overwhelming; and it’s not that external darkness, but the internal kind, that we most fear.
And yet: here are Jesus’ words, echoing down through the centuries from that Galilean hillside to this time and place. We have two choices when the world is dark: we can curse the darkness or we can let our little lights shine. And even though we are prone to forget it sometimes, one little candle in a darkened room really does change the whole space. What was scary and dark can, in an instant, become a holy and luminous place. One tiny little flickering candle can guide us on our way and it helps others find their way as well.
As I said, these metaphors for being the Church are about small things: yeast, light, and salt. And I think that is truly good news. Even in that first setting, Jesus is away from the crowds and with just the twelve. Jesus doesn’t start a mega-church; he forms a dozen disciples. Don’t ever doubt that a small group of committed people can change the world. The fact that you and I are here today is proof that it can be done, and it isn’t done with smoke and mirrors. It’s done one little step at a time, one day at a time. With God’s help.
When my brother and I used to show up for youth group here, led by Pastor Wintermute, sometimes it was just the two of us. Occasionally we’d invite a friend or two along so it wasn’t just the two of us. But you know what? It was enough. It took hold in our long lives. I know you’ve heard my brother share his story. Like me and my sisters we are all indebted to the faith we learned in this little church and that extends to our children and our grandchildren.
From day one of his public ministry around that Sea of Galilee, from the moment he called Peter and Andrew and James and John, Jesus was asking a small group of ordinary people to do extraordinary things, with God’s help. He called them apart to teach them how to be light and salt and yeast by loving God and loving neighbor. By respecting the dignity of every person, regardless of social status. By doing justice, and loving mercy, and walking humbly with God.
And of course that work continues to unfold, here and now, in this place, among us. That is the message, the “good news,” that we are entrusted as members of Christ’s Body to pass along to the next generation. To be witnesses to the wonder and promise of abundant life in Jesus Christ. We are called to be faithful, one day at a time, in small ways.
You and I are not called to do great things. Let me say that again because I think sometimes that is what paralyzes us as followers of Jesus. If you can’t preach like Peter it’s ok. If you can’t pray like Paul, it’s ok. You can tell the love of Jesus, sometimes with words but always by doing small things well, the things that are right before us.
These are hard days to be a follower of Jesus but let me quickly add this: there are no good old days when it comes to that. Be salty. Stay lit. Don’t underestimate that when we act like Christians we are changed, our congregation becomes alive, and our neighbors notice.
What we discover, or at least what I have discovered over almost four decades as an ordained minister, is that when we focus on the small things then together we can accomplish even greater things than we had imagined. This is why the Church doesn’t need superheroes. Just saints—the kind you meet in shops and in lanes and at tea, the kind who are fishermen, and doctors and teachers, classmates, snow plowers and secretaries and insurance salesmen. If you can’t preach like Peter that’s not a problem. If you can’t pray like Paul, not to worry. Just be you, and tell the love of Jesus.
You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. Don’t worry about doing big things. Just pay attention. Just keep listening to Jesus, and doing the work that God gives you to do today; wherever you may find yourself. God will take care of the rest.
And Go Pats!
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