The Park Road Pulpit

When I was in college, under the influence of a 6-foot, 8-inch charismatic African-American basketball player named Randy Morris, I joined Furman University’s “Gospel Ensemble.” An excellent basketball player, Randy could sing, as I learned to say, “like three big dogs.” As the director of the Gospel Ensemble, Randy’s wing-span covered most of the choir, and he knew how to use those long arms and his incredible baritone voice to get more music out of eighteen voices than a proper-congregational-singing-lily-white-Southern-Baptist-boy could even imagine! That brief stint as a gospel musician remains as one of the most important musical and theological learning seasons of my life.

I learned how to sing – full voice! I learned how sing beautiful harmonies – without ever looking at a note of music. I learned how to rock (and sometimes to clap) – while singing! I learned about the importance – and the danger – of emotion and emotionalism in worship. I learned that the spirit of God does move like a wind[1] – sometimes whispering a refreshing breeze, sometimes blowing at gale-force.

Our services and sermons are not structured for such a style, but I learned to love the flow of the black worship experience. The music never stops. The preacher begins, and, finding his rhythm, the organ interprets, negotiating his narrative, elaborating his emphases, punctuating his frequent and dramatic pauses. The organ is never still – nor is the congregation ever silent. “Tell it!” they will say as he preaches. “Go on now!” “That’s right!” “You know it!” In those services I attended with Randy, sometimes someone would just stand up and say, “Yes!” There was constant commotion – clapping and clamoring – to the un-initiated it might well have seemed a chorus of continual chaos.

If there were a momentary lull in the sermon, or a point that the people did not sufficiently note, themselves, the preacher would prompt them, “Can I get a witness?” And the strong response would return from the congregation, “Amen!”

When the Church Speaks – “Amen”! And, as I said last week, the Church must speak today. “Can I get a witness?” (“Amen!”[2])

The Church must speak today. The world needs a witness. The Church must speak today. Our nation needs a witness. The Church must speak today. Our government needs a witness. The Church must speak, today. Your neighbor needs a witness.

There was some squabble going on in the church at Corinth. We don’t know exactly what. The people were frustrated with the traveling evangelist, known as Paul. He was coming back to visit them – or not. He had confused them with some of the things he had said. Was it “yes” or “no”?

“’Yes?’ or ‘No?’ Surely, the answer is ‘yes,’” Paul writes to them, “because ‘Jesus is God’s “yes”! In him, every one of God’s promises is a ‘Yes.’ Through him we say, ‘Amen.’”

In his response, Paul employs more than a bit of rhetorical polish in basically avoiding their question altogether(!), but he speaks an important word that Christians have affirmed ever since: Jesus is God’s “yes” to the world. William Loader says, “Instead of defending himself directly Paul simply reasserts that he lives from a gospel where there is certainty: God is certain and clear in the gospel in offering love and acceptance and incorporating us into Christ”

You know the word. We speak it, corporately, each time we gather. Today you will hear it more than a dozen times. This word, “Amen,” comes from the Greek word, “Amen” which comes from the Hebrew word -- take a guess? – “Amen!” Some things never change![3]

If Jesus is the “yes,” then, what is the question? What never changes in God?

For believers, the answer to this question must be the “Amen” we speak. It must be our constant praise, the conviction of our faith. For those of us who choose to orient our lives around an invisible, un-proveable deity, the “Amen” must be an affirmation of some effectual, practical, reliable asset to our human condition.

Well, let me ask you: What do you promise your children? What promises do you make your friends? There is little that we can promise anyone, save this -- our own presence. This is all God offers, too: Faithfulness. Comfort. Steadfast love. God promises, in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, and in Jesus’ own words, “to be with us… always.”

But the abstract promise of the presence of an unseen God is not enough for a world hungering for the sensational, the spectacular, the supernatural. It was not enough for the leper (of last week’s sermon), nor for the crowds who stormed his great, healing Jesus. But presence is all that God has ever promised.

We no longer charge God with the "no" in human history. [We may not think God sends heart disease or cancer to people because of their sins.] But we do look to God for the "yes." We do know that God sends patient caregivers, dedicated researchers and physicians, devoted family and friends to walk with the ill through their painful journey[s]… Such people are sent from God whether they know it or not. Anyone who is part of the "yes"--part of the healing, the comfort, the building-up – is the servant of God. (Speaks the “Amen” of Jesus Christ.)[4]

In the hospital this week, Amy was visiting with our dearly beloved Mac Cameron, who knows that she is dying. In a state of semi-consciousness she spoke to Amy, “I need my Jesus.” Amy replied, “And he sent me today, Mac. I’m right here.”

This is our calling. In word and deed, we must speak the “Amen” of Jesus Christ – God is with us. To a world defined by its own, limited wisdom, to a world bent on its own destruction, to a world lost, and alone and dying and afraid. The certain presence of Christ must be made present in us.

“Amen” – in Hebrew, Greek, and English, has two points of reference. The first is the present – even now, God is certain. We must continue to speak, and to be God’s Amen.

But there is more. Amen is often translated, “May It Be So.” The certainty of God’s present action is the basis for our hope, even before an uncertain future. God’s faithfulness today is the confidence and hope we have for every tomorrow. And what a great word this is for this day. When, in threat of terrorist attacks, Americans are duct-taping themselves into air-tight bubbles of fear and alienation; when the alert is “High;” when our suspicions are growing… Amid all that is fearful in our world… the word is, Amen.

We who believe in the God who is love must not fear the uncertainty of tomorrow. Tomorrows have are always been uncertain, but love cast out fear.[5] And the God who has been with us, who is with us… will be with us, even tomorrow.

The beautiful, curly blond hair of little Isaac Lamm is about the best reminder of this we will ever get.[6] Someone has said that “Each time a baby is born it brings with it the reminder that God is not too disappointed with humanity.”[7] Isaac is our future. And it is bright.

Amen is a word of affirmation, confirmation, praise and proclamation. Amen is a word of certain hope offered for an uncertain tomorrow. It is a word the world needs to hear. It is a word the Church must speak.

For the prayer, the children’s choirs assisted Russ, Amy, and Scottie Stamper in singing the old, spiritual, “Amen, Amen!”

[1] I love the very “dynamic” experience of preaching. As Amy and I understand it, a sermon is just one part of a continuous dialogue with the church. Last Wednesday night’s discussion, which Amy led, featured her question “How have you experienced God’s movement in your life?” The reference “like a wind” comes from that discussion.

[2] I was proud of our very quiet congregation, who appropriately took my lead and responded, rather strongly, to my prompting – “Amen!”

[3] Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, Gerhard Kittel, Vol. I, pp335-338.

[4] Barbara Crafton, “Lame Excuses,” The Christian Century, February 8, 2003, p.19.

[5] 1 John 4.18.

[6] Isaac Lamm and his parents participated in a Baby Dedication in this service.

[7] This quotation is framed in a piece of calligraphy given to us at the birth of our first child. The author is Tagore.