A decade ago, I had been invited to speak at a conference that was being held at an historic and prestigious church, the kind we once referred to as “a tall steeple church,” in one of America’s great cities.
I arrived early for the events of the day. I was met by the President of the congregation, an elderly African-American man. As we had time on our hands, he asked if I would like to have a tour of the church, a huge edifice. It covered an entire city block. “Sure,” I said.
The church had, he explained to me, once been known as “The Grand Central Station of the Underground Railway.” It’s pastor, Henry Ward Beecher, was one of the great orators of the 19th century, and a towering leader of the Abolitionist movement and cause. People packed the church to hear Dr. Beecher.
As we toured the church, I noticed that there were quite a few paintings, statues and plaques dedicated to their beloved pastor. “Yes,” said my guide, “there are twenty-three such memorials in all throughout the church.” Those memorials, that proud history, could I thought, be a mixed blessing. Such a bright light inevitably cast quite a shadow. It’s not always easy to live in the shadow of such past glory. It was tough, I’m sure, to be one of Beecher’s successors.
So I wasn’t entirely surprised when my guide said that then, in the early decades of the 21st century, he wasn’t sure that his once great church was going to survive.
“Yes,” he said, “we were down to about fifty members, most as old as me, here in this sanctuary, a sanctuary that seats 1,200.” But then he smiled and said, “Lately, though, we seem to be growing. Things are picking up. Now, we have a couple hundred here on Sundays, including some younger people.”
“Really,” I said, “that’s great. Tell me, how has that happened?”
“It isn’t all our new minister, but he’s a big part of it.”
“Yes, what’s he done?”
“Well, he has gotten us reconnected to the community, the neighborhood, which is changing. And he’s gotten us back into the Bible, into God’s word. He gives an excellent Bible study.” Pause. “In fact, he can summarize the Bible’s whole message in just seven words.”
I had, of course, to ask. “And what are the seven words that summarize the entire Bible?
He smiled and said, “I am God and you are not.”
Honestly, I had expected something, well, friendlier, something more upbeat and inspiring, maybe a clarion call to action.
“I am God and you are not.” It sounded a little abrupt, a little sharp. A bit like that after- shave commercial where the tonic has the effect of a brisk slap, after which the user says, “Thanks, I needed that!”
Job Confessing his Presumption to God (William Blake)
In an age when we are accustomed to being reminded of our unlimited potential, of our capacity to accomplish or become anything we conceive or imagine and to which we put our mind, “I am God and you are not,” seemed an unlikely mantra for church growth or revitalization.
But then I thought of my friend in AA, John. John keeps a post-it note on his refrigerator. It reads, “There is a God, John, and it’s not you.”
I guess that too could sound deflating or diminishing. But that’s not how John took it. He heard it as a great relief. As good news. It wasn’t all up to him. He wasn’t, and didn’t have to be, in control of everything. It wasn’t all up to him. He could let God be God for him.
“There is a God, John, and it’s not you,” came as good news, a great relief.
So, too, for a congregation whose past greatness may have become a crippling burden. A congregation that perhaps felt they could never quite live up to the storied legacy of its glory days. Good news, it’s not all on you. “I am God, you are not. Listen to me. Trust in me. Cling to me.”
Not only do golden eras turn into golden handcuffs in a subsequent era, but they tend to make us think, as our history is recounted, that we have been the active agents in the story of redemption. We become the subject of the verbs in such a story of church greatness.
But in Scripture, that’s not how it is. We are not the subject of the verbs, nor are we the active agent in the salvation story. God is. In the Bible, we humans are a decidedly mixed bag.
While there have been all sorts of casual explanations for the decline of the Protestant mainline — demographic shifts, secularization, cultural shifts in a conservative direction — one that is seldom cited but cited, and may be crucial, is a loss of divine agency in favor of human agency. In the world of moralistic, therapeutic deism it’s all on us.
While on another more recent speaking gig I met the pastor of another church that had dwindled to nearly nothing, but was now experiencing new vitality. I said, “I’d like to visit your church.” She said, “Do come, we’d love to have you.” Then she said, “Come and see what God is doing.”
There it was again. God the subject of the verbs. God as an active agent. Jesus up to something in the world.
I realized that were I inviting someone to my church I would be likely to make us the subject of the verb, saying something like. “You’ll like our church, we’re very warm and friendly.” Or, “our church is very active, lots going on.”
Her framing seemed far more interesting, and frankly, inviting. “Come and see what God is doing.”
As with the “seven words that sum up the message of the entire Bible,” it’s less about us and more about God. Which is another way of speaking of grace. “Grace,” as a friend reminded me recently “is shorthand for God is the active agent in the story of salvation.”
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This is a gem!
I worked for an evangelism ministry for 19 years, on the streets, leading other lay people less familiar with sharing the Gospel in how to share the ministry’s Gospel presentation. Hundreds, thousands, millions had come to faith in Christ through the years as God used this ministry. Pastoral leaders would say things like, “You’re doing the work closest to Jesus’ heart.” I was a modern-day disciple. Before going out we were always reminded, “Share the Gospel. Share the Gospel. Share the Gospel,” because the Word never returns void. I wasn’t so good at it and seriously recall one conversion that God allowed me to experience in all those years. One. Gosh, did I feel the guilt. Eight years removed from that ministry, I still wrestle with those statistics and need reminders like this every day. Thanks Anthony.