A Sermon Delivered by The Rev. John D. Painter at Centenary United Methodist Church Metuchen, New Jersey September 27, 2009 (Music Recognition Sunday)

Text: Ephesians 1:3-14
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, just as he chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before him in love. He destined us for adoption as his children through Jesus Christ, according to the good pleasure of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace that he freely bestowed on us in the Beloved. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace that he lavished on us. With all wisdom and insight he has made known to us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ, as a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth. In Christ we have also obtained an inheritance, having been destined according to the purpose of him who accomplishes all things according to his counsel and will, so that we, who were the first to set our hope on Christ, might live for the praise of his glory. In him you also, when you had heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and had believed in him, were marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit; this is the pledge of our inheritance toward redemption as God’s own people, to the praise of his glory.
—Ephesians 1:3-14, NRSV
Some folk have asked me what I will miss the most about ministry when I retire. That’s a hard question to answer. Baptisms came to mind…and weddings. Not so much funerals…and late-night meetings! And I will miss the special privilege I have had to be present at many of the most personal and intimate moments in the lives of individuals and families.
One thing I do know I will miss is the music. For forty-one years I have had the opportunity to select hymns and songs that we sing in worship every Sunday morning. It has been a wonderful opportunity to try to match text and message, tune and melody and theme. And through that experience, I have been blessed to receive some familiarity with the hymnology of our faith.
On occasion, in my quest to select just the right texts for a Sunday morning theme, I have been guilty of choosing what some would call “hymna obscuranta”—hymns so obscure as to be unknown to most everyone except myself. Although I must admit that I was stunned when I selected “Are You Able” to sing in a worship service some years ago and the music director told me that nobody knew that hymn and advised me to pick something else. Turns out it was she who didn’t know it, and the congregation nearly lifted the rafters of the Sanctuary when we sang it that Sunday. But yes, there have been those hymns that it sounded like nobody else knew. It got to be a matter of some humor during my ministry in Roselle Park, to the extent that someone went out and bought the organist/choir director a custom-made “T”-shirt emblazoned with the words, “I don’t pick ‘em, I just play ‘em!” ?
In his book, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, Robert Fulghum, popular writer and teller of tales, shares an experience that moved him greatly. He writes that every year he spends a week in Weiser, Idaho, a little tiny place that is hard to find on a map. Only 4,000 people live there. Little happens in that town except once a year when it becomes the home of the Grand National Old-Time Fiddlers’ Contest. On the last week in June, people descend on that little village. Fiddlers come from Pottsboro, Texas; Sapulpa, Oklahoma; Caldwell, Kansas; and some people come as far away as Japan. They come to play, and sing, and have a good time.
Fulghum writes that, a few years ago, fiddlers were pretty straight country folk. The men had very short hair, their wives stayed home and cooked, and everybody went to church on Sunday. But through the years the Fiddlers’ Convention has changed. Long-haired hippies began to show up. People with tattoos and leather jackets came on motorcycles. Some of these strange-looking people were wonderful fiddlers.
Fulghum asked one of the old-timers what he thought about the new crowd joining them. The old man said, “I don’t care who they are or how they look. They can have a bone in their nose as far as I’m concerned. It don’t matter. If you can fiddle, you’re all right with me. It’s the music we make that counts.” Fulghum said that out there under the stars, with a thousand people picking, singing, and fiddling together, he looked out on fat and skinny, young and old, hippies and straights, people of just about every color. He said it was such a moving sight he came back year after year. He played his banjo next to a Weiser policeman. As they picked, the old policeman winked at him and said, “You know, sometimes the world seems like a mighty fine place.”
When Paul wrote his letter to the Ephesians from a prison cell, he wanted his friends in those little house churches to capture a vision. He wanted them to see that in the middle of a fractured and divided world, there would be a church where all could come despite their very real differences. There they would find a place of safety and wholeness for all.
What we discover at the beginning of that letter in Ephesians 1:3-14 is really an overture of all that will follow. All the themes that we find in the six chapters of this epistle are embedded in these 11 verses. John Mackay has called these words “truth as melody.”
Like the fiddlers in Weiser, Idaho, it was the music these new Christians made together that mattered. It made no difference who they were or how they looked. All was subsumed under the larger goal of their music.
The church was so taken with this vision it became part of the liturgy of the early church. The words of Ephesians can be found in their prayers, songs, and sermons. The Ephesian Christians were much like the Civil Rights’ foot soldiers of the ‘60s who gathered in little black churches to pray and sing until they found a power that kept them going despite fear of death, loss of jobs, fire hoses, bombings, and a world that did not understand.
Commentator Roger Lovette says that Paul’s overture had three stanzas. These three stanzas form the vision for any real Christian community. In verses 3-6 we are first given a hymn to God. Paul knew that whatever power those little beleaguered churches possessed was not of their own doing. They would never be overwhelmed by the powers and principalities when the focus of their singing was directed toward God. It was only when they moved away from this vision, relying on their own resources, that they would flounder and fail.
So the vertical dimension is primary. Israel’s faith is reflected in their first prayer book, the Psalter. Around a vision of praise, lament, thanksgiving, and doxology—all addressed to God —the children of Israel found their center. That center lifted their eyes beyond the constrictedness of their lives, the harshness of their days, the impossibilities of their world, and they found strength to go on. So they began their worship with God. And when they gathered to sing “Holy, Holy, Holy,” something swept them up into a larger purpose than they had ever known before.
John Mackay wrote that the wonder of this music is that when we see God as Divine Parent, the world is an orphanage no more. We are not left to some sort of cosmic solitariness. We are connected to one another. We are brought into the circle called “family.” This is what Paul saw in his great vision.
The hymn moved from the vertical to the horizontal. In verses 7-10 not only do we know this is a hymn sung in praise to God, but this is a hymn sung to the world as well. Paul keeps faith with John 3:16 in this stanza. God really does love the world. Heaven touches earth. This Parent knows and loves everyone. Paul’s vision says that in Christ we have been delivered and we have found forgiveness.
Wheeler Robinson told the story of a man who stood in the back of a sanctuary as the choir was practicing the 23rd portion of the Mass: “Lamb of God that takes away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us…” And he said a man came in and stood next to him, listened to the wonderful petition sung in Latin and began to moan, again and again, “Oh, God, if only he could! If only he could!” And with that he ran out of the church. The music we make together says we can all be redeemed and forgiven. For the vision was that in Christ, not only would there be no north or south, no east or west, but more.
All things in heaven and earth are united once and for all. Saint Paul says, “He has made known to us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ, as a plan for the fullness of time, to gather all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth” (Eph 1:9-10). No more pecking order. No more we’s and they’s; no more them’s and us’s. “But,” as the great hymn In Christ There Is No East or West declares, “one great fellowship of love throughout the whole wide earth.”
But even this global stanza does not end Paul’s hymn. In verses 11-14 the hymn becomes personal. Note the pronouns: “We have also obtained an inheritance, having been destined… we who were the first to set our hope on Christ.” “You have heard the word of truth.” “The gospel of your salvation.” “This is the pledge of our inheritance toward redemption as God’s own people.” From behind bars Paul knew this gospel spoke a personal word—a word to the heart.
In the second chapter of his epistle, this apostle in prison—cut off from friends, family, and work; under sentence of death—writes a personal word that flows directly from these verses: “So then, remember that at one time you Gentiles by birth, called ‘uncircumcision’ by those who are called ‘the circumcision’—a physical circumcision made in the flesh by human hands—remember that you were at that time without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenants or promise, having no hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ” (Ephesians 2:11-13). The words continue a few verses later, which are as beautiful an oratorio as the church has ever sung: “So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19).
After years of drug and sexual addiction, suicide attempts, and great depression, Anne Lamott tells about one Sunday when she heard the sounds of gospel music coming from a little church across the street. The building was not much to look at. It was just a little ramshackle building with a tiny cross on top. But, she said, the music forced her to stop and listen. She heard words of gospel songs she remembered from her childhood. Week after week she would come back, stand outside the doors and listen. After many weeks she got up the courage to move to the doorway of the church and listen to the songs. The choir of five black women and one white man were making glorious music. The congregation of 30 or so seemed to radiate kindness and warmth. She began to go back about once a month, always slipping out before the sermon. She grew to love many things about the church, their care for one another, their community mission program, the way they welcomed strangers. But she writes, “It was the singing that pulled me in and split me wide open.”
Anne Lamott got the courage to walk inside one day, to sit in the back and let the singing envelope her. That music, she said, was breath and food. “Something inside me that was stiff and rotting would feel soft and tender. Somehow the singing wore down all the boundaries and distinctions that kept me so isolated. Sitting there, standing with them to sing, sometimes so shaky and sick that I felt like I might tip over, I felt bigger than myself, like I was being taken care of, tricked into coming back to life.”
It was always an exciting time when those small, Mediterranean house churches received an epistle from the Apostle Paul. But when those isolated congregations in Ephesus received this letter from Paul from prison they listened with more intensity than usual. The president of the congregation would open the letter and begin to read.
There was no poor-mouthing or woe-is-me in this letter called “Ephesians.” Neither was there a Pollyanna optimism on the part of Paul. What they heard was simply great music written from the heart of an old man out of years of faith experience. It was a hymn about the Creator Parent of them all. It was a hymn about a world without barriers or divisions. And most of all it was a song that touched the hearts of all those who needed a vision and a hope.
When the church sings this great song, not only does the world seem to be a mighty fine place. We begin to look at even the hard things of life, not with despair, but with eyes of grace, wonder, and faith. And in our music, God is glorified.
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PRAYER
Lord, we come to church for many reasons. We come to recover our vision. The everydayness of life sometimes overwhelms us all. Often we lose our purpose and our way. Speak to us, today, through the hymns, the prayers, and the holy scripture, that we might be stirred to dream the dreams and do the deeds you have for us. Grant us wisdom, grant us courage for the living of these days. Amen.
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