Authenticity and Authority

Authenticity and Authority The Dover Church
January 29, 2012 –Fourth Sunday after Epiphany
Scripture: Psalm 31, Mark 1: 21-28

One of the sure signs that you're actually older than you feel is when you start realizing that your favorite movies were made decades ago, and you remember seeing them first in the theatre and not on Turner Classics. As I was writing this sermon, I discovered that Chariots of Fire, one of my top ten, came out 31 years ago. For those of you who never saw it or have forgotten it, Chariots of Fire tells the story of four British runners on their way to the 1924 Olympics. All of these outstanding athletes struggled with their authenticity and personal authority. One character in particular, however, stood out for me for a number of reasons. First, because he was an athlete, as I was at the time. Second, because he was considering a pastoral vocation, as I was at the time. Third, because he seemed to possess remarkable clarity about who he was, which I didn't have at the time. And fourth, because all the pieces of his life fit together seamlessly, whereas I felt fragmented as most 18 year olds do.
The character's names was Eric Liddle, a Scotsman who seemed, from the outside, to be successfully juggling two competing aspirations for his authenticity and authority over his life. First, he was a serious Christian preparing for missionary work in China. Second, he was born with a truly amazing gift to run very, very fast, as in the fastest man in the world fast. When we first meet Liddle, he is fantastically successful, both as a track star and as a preacher. His fame as a runner attracted crowds to hear him preach. People were moved by his preaching because of his authenticity. He spoke with authority about what he knew and lived.
Enter Liddle’s beloved sister, home from the mission in China. She confronted him, telling him that he was wasting his God given gifts for evangelism on running, passing up ministry opportunities for opportunities for personal glory, that he was obsessed with his victory and neglecting Christ’s victory, avoiding the purpose for which God created him. I can still remember almost verbatim Liddle’s firm, loving, but absolutely authentic and authoritative response to his sister, “God made me for a purpose. He made me for China, but He also made me fast and when I run, I feel His pleasure. To give it up would be to hold Him in contempt. You were right, it’s not just fun. To win is to honor Him.” That is authenticity. Seeing him flying down the track with his unorthodox style, head back and arms flailing, he was his own authority. By doing what he loved like he really loved it, using the gifts God had given him to the best of his ability, to make the glory of God as visible as possible in his running as it were, Eric Liddle both enjoyed God and fulfilled God’s purpose. For him, his life was worship, honoring God.
We don't have to win an Olympic gold medal to be authentic. We don't have to the best in the world to be an authority. Here's something equally authentic and authoritative. “I made this for you, Daddy. It’s you. Happy Father’s Day.” Now that’s authentic. In this portrait, Lucas has clearly demonstrated his authority.
So there you have it, two illustrations of authenticity: an Olympic runner and a 2 year old boy. Their authenticity makes them authorities on what they do and people can easily see that. One wins a gold medal and the other makes his Dad warm all over. You can feel their power. I hope that I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. All of us have had our moments of authenticity, when we were living out of our center, transparently real, no pretense, fear, compulsion, just joy in the being and doing. And for that moment, we lived with authority. Making sand castles at the beach or riding your bike as a kid; vivid moments in our best friendships; the really best of times in marriage and parenting; knowing by heart the breaks on the 16th green or the roses on your fence. These are the times in life when we don't have to quote some expert or research how someone else has done it. We know. We are the authority. Because of our authenticity and authority, we act with power. For many of us, sadly, it is these truly authentic times in our lives which we draw upon to get us through the times when we have to waffle on the authenticity thing.
All of that’s fine and the beginning of a really good personal growth sermon. "Rah, rah, rah. Go out there and get authentic. Be the authority for your life." Hyperbole aside, I sincerely hope that you do live more authentically. I myself have found life much richer and rewarding the more I am true to myself, living out of my strong center rather than running around on my messy periphery. But there's one problem with that sermon. You might have already noticed. That's not the point of our lesson this morning. This morning, Jesus doesn't walk up to some person in some Galilean village and tell her to live the life God intended her to live. No. Jesus walks into a synagogue and doesn't seem to say anything memorable at all before the exorcism. The congregation does not pick up on the content, argumentation or catch phrase of his sermon. They are struck by his personal authenticity, by his clear authority, by the power which emanates from his person. When he talks about God, he's not quoting anyone or referring to tradition. He speaks from his personal experience. He speaks about what he knows. He claims his authority, not his mastery of someone else's authority. In this place of religious tradition and authority, he shakes things up by being so clearly different from all the other preachers who quoted this verse from the Bible or that scholar or summed up with the old fall back "because we've always done it that way." They can see the power of his words and deeds for themselves. This is not what they're used to.
And therein lies our challenge, the challenge I am certain Jesus meant to put before this congregation, before every congregation of disciples in every place and every time. It may not be news to you, but there is often a big difference between religion and faith, between church the institution and the direct experience of the living God, an authenticity gap between a talk about an impersonal and possibly hypothetical God, and someone speaking from firsthand experience.
So we have to ask ourselves, well...we're Congregationalists so we don't have to do anything, but I often ask myself and would like you to ask yourselves: are we running a church here or are we seeking to be transformed by God in Jesus Christ? Are we following the by-laws or praying? Are we ticking off items on an agenda or are we diving into an adventure? Are we comfortable doing things the way we always have or are we allowing God to challenge us through the stories of the Bible? Are we here to serve ourselves or to serve the world? Do we expect not much to happen, the same thing as last week, or the Kingdom of God? Do we prefer to take care of our members or reach out to our neighbors? Is our purpose to keep the old church open for business or to raise up disciples to be the Good News in Dover? Are we a "let the little children come unto me" place or only so long as they don't disrupt things? Do we doubt ourselves or trust in God? Do we not dare to do or say certain things because of how "some people" might react? Are there sacred cows grazing all over the place or only God in Jesus Christ at the center inviting us to follow him? Does the preacher soft soap you on a regular basis and you don't mind? Do we make a lot of excuses for our church or are we so psyched that we really want everyone we like in town to share in this? Can you feel the energy flowing into you the more you get involved in the life of our church, or do you feel your energy being sucked out of you? Are we self-satisfied or do we refuse to be satisfied? Is this as good as it gets, or as good as it got, and we're driving along forever looking in the rearview mirror, or are our eyes on the horizon? What's our median age and why isn't it 47 like our town? Do we know that what we do is of God or are we hoping to get it right? Do we tend to have five reasons why can't do something new and creative, or do we tend to have five new and creative initiatives getting going? Are we are a sighing church, as in "oh well...," or are we a singing church, as in "we are marching in the light of God"? Do we want God or good enough?
No judgment. No blame. Just questions. I'm pretty sure these are Jesus' questions. You may not like the questions, but as your pastor I would be remiss if I didn't point out something else Jesus said, "Ask and you shall receive. The measure you give will be the measure you receive." You get what you're looking for.