A Sermon on Matthew 28:16-20

Preached May 26, 2002

By Donald M. Tuttle

First Christian Church, Corpus Christi, Texas

A few years ago, the church I served used a program entitled "Faithful, Hopeful, Loving." It was a program designed to help renew congregations. And it was a good program—continuing to be used today under the name "Faithful Planning." As part of the process, people were asked to specifically name people in the congregation who embodied faith, hope and love.

This morning I want to pursue a similar exercise. I would like for you to take one of the pencils from the rack in front of you, find a blank spot on your bulletin, and write down the name of a person or two who you believe have been particularly blessed by God's Spirit. They can be here or elsewhere, living or dead. What we are looking for are people who seemed particularly attuned to Christ's presence in their lives.

Who did you name?

When I first did this exercise, the person I identified was Othelia. Joan and I met her when we served Morgan Christian Church in Kentucky. When we knew her, she was in her late sixties or early seventies and still worked at the Pendleton County Library. But what made Othelia special was the way she dealt with life. Years before we knew her, she and her husband had owned a farm. But then along came a tornado and they lost virtually everything they owned. Later, when she and her husband were in the ‘50s, Tommy suffered a severe heart attack. He was left unable to work, so Othelia became the family's sole provider. Along the way, their only child, the apple of their eye, married, had two beautiful little girls, but then her husband left her, decided he no longer wanted the

responsibilities of marriage and family.

And yet when you talked to Othelia, her sense of God's presence was clear. No matter how bad life seemed to be, no matter how dark the night, she seemed to have an inner strength, a peace, that lifted her above even the worst of times. It was as if Christ was there with her, not just to sustain her but to be made known through her as well. She seemed--like the people you have named--particularly blessed by the Spirit of God.

But if you are like me that same sense of presence that we so admire in the Othelias of the world disturb us. It is not that there is anything wrong with it. Just the opposite. It disturbs us because it is so wonderful, so rich, so real. Our Othelias make us uncomfortable because their experience of Christ's presence so sharply contrasts to our own. For them, Jesus' assurance that he would be with his disciples always seems true. But our experience says Jesus is with us here and there, now and then, every-so-often. That's why the little piece "Footprints in the Sand" is so popular. Do you know the story? The author has a dream of walking along a sandy beach with Jesus. When she looks back, she sees her life played out in the footprints. But she notices that during the really tough times, the dark nights, there's only one set of footprints. And so she questions Jesus about it. "Why did you leave me in those tough times?" Of course, Christ responds: "I didn't. That was when I carried you."

Do you hear the issue? In the tough times, the author did not feel as if Christ was present. Christ didn't seem to be there when she needed him. There were moments when Christ seemed to have broken his promise and gone away. What she expressed in her writing has struck a chord with millions of us. That's why the story gets framed and hung on the wall. That's why it gets laminated and carried in our billfolds. Unlike our Othelias, most of us have times in which we wonder whether Jesus Christ is with us or not.

So what's the difference between our Othelias and ourselves? What is it that makes Othelia's experience of Christ's presence so real and ours so limited? Why does it seem Christ is always with some people and just visits the rest of us?

Dr. Robert Luccock is a professor at Boston University School of Theology. And he suggests an answer. Let me picture it for you. Imagine that you have just entered a darkened room. It is pitch black. You can’t see your hand in front of your face. But you know that right next to the door is an electrical switch. You know that by flipping the switch light will flood the room. All you have to do is lift your arm and brush the switch. So your mind says raise your arm, flick the switch. But you can't. Your arm doesn't respond. It hangs limp at your side. You want light. You know the source of light. But what connects the two is missing. The muscle that would make it happen is too weak to produce.

Dr. Luccock suggests that in the same way, the muscle between our worship of Christ and the promise of his presence is missing. And what is that muscle? Luccock says it is ministry.

Look again at the story of when Jesus assured the disciples that he would be with them always. In this story, the disciples have made their way to Galilee. There they have encountered the resurrected Lord. Recognizing that God has glorified him, they bow, even in their doubts, to worship him. So Jesus comes to them and gives them a commandment, a commission:

It was after this commission that Jesus assures them of his presence. "And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age."

Notice that Jesus' promise is not uttered in a vacuum. Jesus doesn't just say generically that he will always be with the disciples. Instead, he gives the assurance of his presence in the context of commissioning them for ministry. In fact, virtually every text in Scripture that speaks of the coming Spirit does so in the context how the disciples will serve after Jesus has gone. As Dr. Luccock notes of this text, worship, mission, and presence are all a single piece. They all go together. Worship leads to ministry; ministry leads to presence.

Now what that means is that we must fully experience the spirit's presence when we are not merely worshippers of the risen Lord but disciples doing the work of Christ. Those who are actively seeking to make disciples, to lead people to repentance and baptism, those that are seeking to teach by word and deed are those who are going to be most attuned to Christ's presence.

Let's check that theory out. How about Othelia? Although she always had more to do for her family than any three people could have accomplished, every other Thursday night you could find her at one of the local nursing homes. For 90 minutes or so, she would go door to door, visiting the residents there. For some, she'd have a piece of fruit to share. For others a warm hug. For every last one of them she would have a few minutes to listen to their stories, sympathize with their hurts, and encourage their hopes. She was there so that they might know just how much Jesus Christ loved them. She was there to minister. On Sunday she worshipped, through the week she served, and constantly she felt the presence.

Isn't that the case with those whose names you listed? I would bet that the persons you named as being most attuned to the Spirit are people engaged in ministry. I would bet they are or were actively bringing the life of Jesus Christ to others, either through teaching or tending. I would bet they were serious about the ministry to which God called them.

Am I suggesting a new form of works righteousness? Am I suggesting that if we work hard enough God will bless us with his Spirit? No. The Christ's presence is a gift. What I am suggesting is that the gift is like a muscle, the more it is exercised, the more it is used, the more we stretch it by faithfully serving others, the stronger it grows. The more that we devote ourselves to that which Christ commissioned us to do, to go make disciples, to baptize them in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, to teach them all that Christ has commanded us, the more we will experience the power of his presence.