It can be overwhelming to think about the numerous, immense problems that confront us in each day in the news. Foreign conflicts, global warming, electoral politics, poverty and gun violence, and the list goes on. You can’t possibly do something about all of these problems; you might be able to do only a little about any of them, but how in the world do you choose which one? And as overwhelming as it can be, it’s selfish and inhumane not to pay some attention.
Sometimes, I’ll admit, I get overwhelmed, wondering what I’m supposed to say about all these things—or any one of them. I find myself wondering if you show up on Sundays expecting me to reflect thoughtfully on issues where I have little expertise. I know it makes sense that I would wonder about this, because most of my colleagues do. Almost 100 years ago now, the great preacher Reinhold Niebuhr said that preachers should have the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. But I’ve been reflecting lately that his “newspaper” was nothing like mine. The breadth of information we have access to each day IS overwhelming, and we don’t even know how much of it we can believe.
When I’m feeling less overwhelmed, and a bit more centered, I remember that our job here at church is not to fix all the world’s problems—it is different. Here we are concerned with a different set of questions—not less important, and still related, but different. Here we ask questions like: What do I believe? What are the guiding values of my life? What kind of community do I wish to live in, and what am I willing to do to make it a reality? These are the kinds of questions we talk about in church. They are questions that can ground us, and then shape our thinking about all of those other matters, and that can help us make choices about where we will place our greatest concern. The questions we ask at church shape us into the kind of parents and neighbors we will be, they shape our professional lives, our volunteering, and how we spend our money, and collectively they extend to some of those big matters that make the news. This is a place where we are being formed by God for life in the world, and where we are given a manageable way to think about all that is out there, and not feel so helpless.
Here’s a (non-churchy) example of what I mean: Seth Kaplan is a professor at Johns Hopkins University and a leading expert on fragile nation states—and before you get excited that this sermon is going to be third week in a row about the upcoming election, let me assure you it is not. The United States, argues expert Seth Kaplan, is not a fragile nation state. But we are fragile. The greatest fragility in our country, he argues, is found in our local neighborhoods. On the neighborhood level, he says, we have plenty enough crises to worry about. Seth Kaplan writes that, “from gun violence in Baltimore to teens committing suicide in Palo Alto to the opioid crisis in Appalachia…Our families and communities suffer from social problems that shock the rest of the world, and ought to shock us: family disintegration, homelessness, school shootings, racial animosity, skyrocketing rates of loneliness and depression, and deaths of despair—alcoholism, drug abuse, and suicide.” Those are the problems. The hope, he argues in his new book, the hope…is that if we understand these problems as local in nature, it is within our grasp to change them. “When change is hyperlocal,” Kaplan writes, “that means we all have an opportunity to contribute.” And based on his worldwide expertise among local communities, both fragile and strong, he argues in his new book that we can think differently about the challenges that face us and do something about them. We can do so “starting with our own neighborhoods, and working sideways, one zip code at a time.” (Kaplan, Fragile Neighborhoods, x) Kaplan wants to help people who are overwhelmed by the big issues, to think about how we can change them through the daily choices we make as parents, neighbors, coworkers, and friends.
There are biblical examples of this same kind of thinking. People who lived in the world of the Bible had as many reasons as we do to be overwhelmed by issues of their day. The tyrannical occupation of the Roman Empire, profound income inequality, and brutal daily instances of violence and hunger were all a regular part of daily life. Jesus acknowledges them frequently. But even so, much of the time the Bible is helping its readers to think about problems that are within their grasp. Love your neighbor; live generously; practice forgiveness. These matters may seem boring or unimportant compared to toppling the Roman Empire, but in a way Seth Kaplan might have liked, the pages of the Bible offer guidance on these local ways a good Christian can change the world.
Today’s scripture comes from Timothy. It’s a tiny book—a letter really, only a few pages long, tucked into the last pages of the New Testament. Many of us know about the Apostle Paul, right? Paul is the one who wrote most of the New Testament, the greatest Apostle, the follower of Jesus who had a lightning bolt experience on the Damascus Road, gave his life over to following Jesus, and transformed the next 2000 years of history.
Timothy was a student of the Apostle Paul, and today’s reading is a letter from Paul to Timothy. Timothy was Paul’s right hand, his best friend, closest confidant; he was the one Paul entrusted with the future of the church. Paul would start a new local church, and then leave it in Timothy’s hands to continue the work when he left. So Timothy was one of those good and faithful people who worked quietly and behind the scenes, with much less notoriety than Paul. And it was the daily work of people like Timothy that would usher Christianity into the world. This letter Paul writes to Timothy, at the end of his life, is a personal greeting. In it he encourages Timothy: he demonstrates understanding and compassion for Timothy’s daily frustrations and the things that overwhelm him. And then Paul builds up Timothy for the challenging days ahead.
Some folks imagine the ancient church to be some kind of ideal community, but letters like this one remind us it was not. The church has always been a human institution. It’s always been run by some combination of paid people and volunteers, stuck in a daily grind of human messiness and distraction, hoping to catch some moments of grace along the way. So Paul writes to Timothy about regular things: how to deal with church members who think they are better than everyone else; how to correct some misunderstandings that have been floating around the new members’ class, how to avoid high flown speculation about theology, and keep your eyes on Jesus. And Paul frames the message with personal notes of friendship, understanding, and love: “You’ve been a great friend to me, Timothy; I know you get some difficult feedback and the work can be a grind, but you’re good at this work, a faithful follower of Jesus, and when I’m gone, the church will be in good hands.” (paraphrase) Paul knew that if he encouraged people like Timothy, they would encourage others too, and collectively, they all could change the world.
Today is All Saints Sundays. As a part of worship today, we pray the names of our Knox members who have died in the last year, and we hope that serves as a reminder of the many good and faithful people who have gone before us and taught us the faith.
I hope you have been following this fall’s Stewardship announcements, partly of course, because we need you to make your pledge for next year. But even more importantly, I hope you’ve been blessed by the stories we’ve been sharing. We started with reminders of how all of us, collectively, contribute to the good of the world. We sent out a series of six emails that remined you about how Knox invests in making the world better. We build strong friendships, enhance the safety of neighborhoods, provide mental health services and care for the aging, give second chances to the incarcerated, work for the welfare of youth and children, and create beauty and meaning through music.
Then we dialed in a bit more closely and sent you more messages that have focused on people who care deeply about this place, and why. We told you Karen Wirthlin’s family story, and about how Ginny Utz finds inspiration here for her work as a doctor and a parent. We told you about how Jim Crosset was sustained by this community following the tragic death of his wife Cindy.
Finally, there have been two beautiful videos shared this fall in worship. The first was narrated by Brittney Woolf, who told you her family’s story of finding a welcome at Knox, and her own conviction that this church cares about the right things. And the second you saw this morning, narrated by Laura Deck. Laura talked about the generational value of the ministries of this church, which she inherited from her parents and shared with her children, and how the investments we put into this place come back to us when we need it the most. It’s a story that is beautiful all on its own; and is even more beautiful because around here, it is not unusual. From one end to the other of this church, there are people who tell stories of friendship, commitment, and sacrifice that shape this community. Through all of these things, we have an exponential influence on the good of the wider world.
Today is a great day to remember and give thanks for the people in your life who have taught you the faith. How have they encouraged you in your journey, and how are you continuing to live out their legacy? Here at Knox we may not solve all the world’s problems, but we are about the vital work of making the world better: raising children with good values, helping adults to live faithfully and never stop growing, bringing a little more beauty and truth into the world we inhabit each day. Knox is a place to start growing, and a place to never stop, so that when we come to the end our earthly journey, we like Paul, can say with confidence, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” Here, we learn the way of Jesus from those who went before us, and we entrust God’s future to those who come after us. Amen.