at the First Congregational Church of Stoughton

United Church of Christ

Last Tuesday evening, 12 people from this church family travelled into St. Mark’s Congregational Church in Dorchester to assemble health and baby kits for the people of earthquake–ravaged Haiti.

While we were there, Rev. Bert Marshall, the New England Regional Director of Church World Service, provided an update on that organization’s relief efforts in Haiti. Included in his presentation was a slide show of his trip to that country two years ago. The pictures showed scenes of men, women, and children living in abject poverty. Remember – this was two years ago – before the earthquake. One slide showed a woman with a young relative in a cardboard hut they called home. Bert shared what she had told him: “We live here with Jesus,” she had said simply, “We live here with Jesus.”

“Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”

Haiti was the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere before the earthquake. Add that disaster on top of entrenched poverty, and the result is a human tragedy of unfathomable proportions. But even in the midst of despair, stories of hope can be found.

This past week, I read about a twelve–year–old boy named Elie whose parents died instantly in the earthquake. “I was all alone and didn’t know what to do,” he said, and so on that night, he curled up on the dirt outside the rubble that was once his home. “I didn’t sleep much” he told the reporter. “I was crying. Just crying, crying, crying.”

The next morning, Elie roamed the streets, looking for something, someone. What he found was Silvia, a 66–year–old widow also left homeless by the quake. She was weak but calm. Elie was healthy but scared. Without discussing it, they became a team. Human strength finding human need. “Elie and I will stay together,” said Silvia, “God will provide for us.” [1]

“Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”

This promise of Jesus beams a ray of light into the shadowed corners of the world. It is a word of hope that can sustain the human heart in the midst of devastating loss.

It is also the promise that embraces those times when even just a few of us gather to pray, or to share communion, or to come together for whatever humble reason in response to God’s love shown to us in Jesus Christ. As far away as disaster-ravaged Haiti, or as close to us as this sanctuary, Jesus is present.

It is a blessing being in this place as part of this family of faith. And I hope that this community helps you battle the loneliness of living alone, or provides a place for you to grow closer to God, or has sustained you when you were sick or struggling or hurting. Yes, being part of a faith community has its blessings.

But in today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus speaks to another reality of living in community. It is a fact of human life that whenever we come together, even when it is in Jesus’ name -- even when it is in a community of faithful, wonderful, and loving human beings – there is bound to be conflict.

Jesus knew this. And his words to apply just as much to the church in the 21st century as they did to the early church 2,000 years ago. If someone hurts or offends us, Jesus tells us we must go to the other person and be intentional about engaging with him or her. Because walking away is not an option; sitting silently licking our wounds or feeling sorry for ourselves is not an option; holding grudges, refusing to forgive, disappearing from church is not an option.

Jesus tells us that when there’s conflict, problems must be addressed directly and openly, with care and respect for one another so that reconciliation can happen. We need to cooperate with one other, working together so we can accomplish our common goals and God’s vision for this faith community. We need to listen to each other – carefully, attentively, and compassionately – especially when the conversation is difficult. It’s not an easy thing to do. But that’s what living in a covenantal community is all about.

And Jesus shows us how -- not with the arrogance, pride, or self-conceit that get in the way of community, but rather with the love, justice, humility, wisdom, and openness to each other that helps to strengthen the community.

I believe these qualities were evident this past Wednesday evening, when we had the first meeting of our Open and Affirming Study Process. This church has embarked on a journey of discerning whether God is calling us to extend an unequivocal and public welcome to gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered people into the full life and ministry of this church. As we travel together on this road of discernment, we will be learning with and from each other. I want to thank the 20 people who attended, who helped create a safe place where personal stories and differences of opinion could be expressed without fear of rejection, rebuke, or ridicule. Because this can and will be a difficult and emotional journey. But it’s an important endeavor for this church and for the people who make up this body of Christ.

And for those of you who did not come last Wednesday, I hope you will plan to join us at our next meeting, which we will announce as soon as it is scheduled. Because we need to hear from all of you; we want all of you to have a voice; we will continue to ensure we maintain a safe environment where differences of opinion can be expressed.

And central to that safe and sacred space is Jesus’ promise: “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”

When any of us gather, work, or act with God’s Holy Spirit present and guiding us in what we do, we become much more than simply the collective number of people we are. Two becomes more than two, and three becomes more than three. That’s Christ’s math. The sum of our individual ideas and resources and abilities becomes much more because of the unity, harmony, and cooperation that God’s presence provides.

A pastor[2] tells the story of Liz, who was leading a tour group through Morocco in the fall of 2001. Three days into their two-week trip dawned the fateful day of September 11. Imagine it. There they all were, thousands of miles away from home, separated from friends and family and in the middle of a predominately Islamic country.

As a sad and weary Liz rested on an outdoor bench, an older Moroccan woman sat down next to her. Neither spoke the other's language, but nonetheless communication occurred. Liz’s weary eyes looked into the other woman's, which were full of sympathy and shared sadness. The woman put her hand on top of Liz's hand, gently lifting it to Liz's heart; then still holding Liz's hand, she placed it over her own heart and held it there as she offered a Muslim prayer. Liz then took the woman's hand in hers and followed the same caring motions, saying a prayer in English. Then the Moroccan woman held both hands up toward the sky, indicating they shared the same God. Liz echoed this affirmation and they then shared a deep and comforting silence.

Whether we are with two or two thousand… Whether we are with neighbors or strangers… Whether we are with fast friends or sworn enemies… Jesus promises to be right there with us.

In Christ’s math, in Christ’s Kingdom, in Christ’s love, we are always more than just us, always greater than our sum, because of Jesus’ eternal promise to be right here among us. Amen.

¹ “An Orphan’s New Family,” People, February 1, 2010, p. 58.
² Rev. Carol DiBiasio-Snyder, “Where Two or Three Are Gathered…,” www.fccoshkosh.org/sep082002.html