EDITOR'S NOTE: In October 2017 I began a new venture as a synodically authorized minister at Faith Lutheran Church in Wolverton, Minn. The ride over the past 2.5 years has been an amazing journey of learning, growing and the deepening of my theological mind. This sermon originally took place on May 5, 2019.
If you would permit me, I’d like to ask you a personal question?
No need to share your answer; I just want you to think about it.
And that question is: Where, outside of these walls, do you find yourself testifying about your faith, about our God?
Or maybe more importantly, do you even find yourself testifying outside of these walls at all?
I want to be careful to define what I’m talking about. … I am not talking about “proselytizing.” … Because there’s an important difference between proselytizing and testifying.
When you proselytize, I think you are attempting to convert someone from one religion -- or no religion at all -- to Christianity. And that’s not what I’m talking about.
I’m talking about “testifying,” which I see as being the face of Christ, as I like to say.
Do you see the distinction? … To me, it’s the difference between actively trying to convince someone to be a Christian versus letting God do his divine work through you. … No intentionality needed.
You might be thinking, “Where is he going with this!” … Fair question.
You see, I’ve been thinking a lot about testifying this week. … As in when is it appropriate, or is there never a time when it is inappropriate? … Are there times God understands when we don’t have the energy or sometimes even the courage to testify? … Are there times God just gives us a nod and thinks, “Child, give yourself a break: There’s nothing you could have done to help convince that person.”
And just to be frank with you, after mulling it over for almost a week, I don’t know.
I don’t have the answer. … I do know that, as Christians, we are called to witness to others, and that Jesus asks us in his absence to be his hands and feet right here on earth. … But are there ever times where it is too difficult? To risky? … Do we ever get a pass?
This week, I found myself at a newspaper conference in Minneapolis. … At this conference, the only people invited were family owned newspaper executives. … Even in this day of ever-expanding corporate newspaper ownership, there are still a few independent, family-owned newspaper groups. And twice a year they get together to share wins and losses, and to encourage each other to keep up the good fight.
I was at this conference to sell my company’s new web service that I was put in charge of in December. … And so I found myself among newspaper owners, their CEOs, and a few other high level executives. … Not generally the company I keep.
At dinner on the second night, I found myself at a table of four, with the owner of a fairly large newspaper group on the West Coast, the advertising manager of the Anchorage Daily News, and a publisher from Schenectady, N.Y.
The conversation was typical newspaper shop talk, and then we talked about families and kids and the years we’ve been in newspapers. … But, you know, after the first couple of hours, you begin to run out of the easy topics.
So eventually the conversation turned toward current events, and we landed on the issue of health care.
Now, in most social and work settings, I try to be pretty quiet about politics. … First, I’ve never found it productive to get into a disagreement over politics. After all, it’s likely I’m not going to change your mind, and you’re not going to change mine. … And second, I believe that my politics are driven by my faith, and so when I’m talking about one, I’m also talking about the other. And to do that well is really challenging.
So, back to the conversation at the table: Health care.
“The problem with health care is that it’s so expensive,” the publisher from New York said. “The big companies big it so expensive.”
“No, the problem with health care is that no one is willing to decide what is an acceptable level of care,” said the owner of the West Coast newspaper group, cutting off the first man speaking.
I’ve chosen to leave out the city where this group is located for reasons you’ll understand later.
“What do you mean, an ‘acceptable level of care?’” asked the advertising director from Anchorage.
“Well, it’s simple,” the newspaper owner said. “The problem with health care is that most people do not understand that it’s a limited commodity, just like any other product, and no one is willing to decide what the value of a human life is.”
He continued: “Should there be a minimum level of care that a person is entitled to? … You bet, but there should be a line, and then people with the ability to afford it should be able to seek out what other care they want.”
With a forced, awkward chuckle, the publisher from New York, a little perplexed, asked, “Are you saying that there’s a dollar figure that you’d assign to the value of a person’s life? … You get this amount of health care, and that’s it, unless you have the financial means for more?”
Deadpan, and with all sincerity, the newspaper owner responded: “You bet, that’s what I’m saying. Take, for instance, the issue with premature babies. … We pour a million dollars into keeping every one of them alive, and the majority of them will never make a million dollars in their lives. There’s an economics there that you just can’t ignore.”
Stunned, the rest of us at the table sat quietly, until the advertising director from Anchorage asked, “Are you really saying that there is an economic value to each life? And that some lives are worth more than others?”
“Well, of course, that’s what I’m saying,” he said. “But I’m not just picking on the ‘crack babies’ ... I’m talking about the old folks too. … Why spend hundreds of thousands of dollars to put a new heart in an 80-year-old. … For what, another two or three years of life? And maybe not even quality life? … Not worth it. Not a productive return to society. … I’m the one who ends up paying for it. The healthy ones, we pay for it. … Doesn’t that piss you off?”
Unable to hold my tongue any longer, I weighed in: “First off,” I said, “I feel it only fair to tell you that I am a Lutheran pastor. And I don’t tell you that to insist that I have some moral superiority. I tell you that because my Christian values require me to tell you that I must value life, all life, whether healthy or otherwise.”
“In fact,” I continued, “My faith tells me that I must value life, whether human or otherwise. … Simply put: in the ever-raging war between life and death on this planet, I side with life.”
“Oh, that’s just tremendous, Pastor,” the newspaper owner said. “Now, you’re deciding how I should spend the money that my family has earned.”
“No, I’m not,” I said. “Your government does that, not me. … I’m simply telling you how I feel that I am called to live, according to my faith. And my faith demands of me that I respect life. Period. ... How you interpret that inevitably will be different than how I interpret it.”
“Well, isn’t that a slick answer,” he said. “Does that work in the pulpit on Sundays? Your slick answer that’s not an answer? … At the end of the day, who pays for the health care in this country? I do. … And at the end of the day, who drives up the cost of health care? Not those of us who are paying for it. Period.”
“Look,” I said. “I’m not interested in calling you out based on my faith, or even on yours. But I can’t agree with you that each life has a monetary value placed on it, based largely on what they will contribute to society. … You’re right, my belief doesn’t help solve the health care crisis our country has. … But I’m pretty certain that our bigger crisis is that we don’t value life enough.”
And with that I excused myself from the table. While I had been polite in my exchange with the gentleman, I also felt that I had been truthful to my faith, and that it was prudent that I leave the conversation.
Let’s just say, I’m pretty certain that I lost that sale. … I don’t think that a certain West Coast newspaper group will be buying the services I am selling on behalf of my company.
And so, for several days now, I’ve thought about that exchange. Questioned whether I did right or whether I did wrong.
Did I say enough? Did I say too much? … Did I represent the Gospel as I understand it? Or was I just grandstanding about my political beliefs?
And even with five days to mull it over, I don’t know the answers to any of those questions.
But what I have come to accept is that in that specific conversation, that one moment, I believe I testified to that table of people, even if it was only three people. … And maybe more specifically I testified to one certain newspaper owner who lives on the West Coast.
I wasn’t there to convert him. In fact, by his statements that night, I presume that he already believes that he is a Christian. … But, obviously, he understands his Gospel a little differently than I do.
And so after some deep soul-searching this week, I know only this: While my intention in that moment certainly wasn’t to proselytize to him, my intention absolutely was to testify to him.
I so badly wanted him to see a face of Christ that might help him understand his feelings on health care differently. ... A face of Christ that just might help him understand the importance of life in entirely different light than he does now.
Was I successful? … Probably not. I doubt that one 15-minute discussion with another newspaper person that he’ll never remember changed his heart. … But my prayer is that maybe my words will hang around in his subconscious, and then the next time he drags this conversation into the light, he may think about the evening that I testified to him.
And so I return to that question I asked you all at the beginning: Do you testify to anyone when you leave this church? … When you go out those doors after service? … Do you attempt to allow Jesus to shine through you? … To be the face of Christ?
I know it’s difficult. In work settings, or other professional obligations. … When you’re with friends who may not profess your same level of faith … or maybe any faith at all.
When your kids’ friends are around, is it easier to tone the Christianity down a bit for their sake. So that we don’t embarrass them?
Or what about the family gatherings at Thanksgiving and Christmas? … Is it easier to allow those secularists to celebrate right alongside you without your God talk for the sake of harmony?
The truth is: I don’t have easy answers. … But I know this: I likely lost a sale on Wednesday night, what might have been a lucrative sale. … And I don’t know how my employer would react if he found out. … So, do me a favor, and let’s not mention this story to Shelley, alright?
Seriously, though, I can’t give you the road map as to when it is and isn’t appropriate to serve as Christ’s witness … when to testify.
So, the best advice I have is to strive to live as faithful of a life as possible, and over time, I think that muscle memory of that faithful living helps each of us to know how to respond in each of these difficult situations.
I absolutely believe there is a tactful way to remain true to your faith, without getting political. … And for me that way is to love ... love your neighbor, love the one you disagree with and even the one that you know you’ll never change … because after all, only Jesus that has that power to change someone’s heart.
And then I think you’ll just instinctively know when to testify. Because then your life will be an extension of your faith. … And that is the good news for this Sunday. … Amen.
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