Sermons from Park Hill Congregational UCC Denver, Colorado Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] May 2, 2021 “This Is Love” 1st John 4: 7-8, 16b-21 – New Revised Standard Version 7 Beloved, Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. 8 Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. 17 Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgment, because as God is, so are we in this world. 18 There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. 19 We love because God first loved us. 20 Those who say, “I love God,” and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. 21 The commandment we have from God is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also. Bishop Carlton Pearson started preaching when he was 14, was licensed in the Pentecostal church at age 15, and ordained when he was 18. In a reverse order from our customary practice, from there he went to Oral Roberts University. His preaching was so powerful and his presence so captivating that Oral Roberts himself took Carlton under his wing and called Carlton his Black son. He started a church in Tulsa in the 1990s that grew to 6,000 almost overnight. It was a somewhat unusual church because he was the Black pastor of an intentionally multi-racial church. Among other honors and privileges, he was a spiritual advisor to President’s George H.W. Bush and Bill Clinton. But as quickly and as high as his star had ascended, his fall from grace was even faster and farther. He lost everything. He lost his congregation, his house, his savings, and all respect from his fellow clergy. He became a pariah in the Pentecostal church. He hadn’t slept with anyone in his congregation – or anyone at all. He hadn’t stolen any money. He hadn’t bilked unsuspecting senior citizens out of their social security checks to build a Christian amusement park. No, his scandal was believing God’s love and mercy were greater than eternal punishment for those who hadn’t been saved. To explain this to his horrified congregation, he quoted from 1st John. His world collapsed when he realized God is love. As Christians we have heard those words hundreds or even thousands of times. God is love. We’ve heard it so many times, we don’t even hear it anymore. It fails to register any more than a cookie and warm milk at bedtime. It feels good. But, one night, Bishop Pearson faced an existential crisis. If God is love, then how can God send people to hell. If we believe God’s mercy endures forever, then how can we explain eternal damnation? He simply could not reconcile the eternal punishment of weeping and gnashing of teeth with the words “God is love.” Worse, he said, think of how twisted and destructive it is to preach the fear of hell as an incentive to love God. As he worked through this disconnect, he came up with my favorite line: “God doesn’t send people to hell. God helps people get through their hell.” Yes, there is a hell. But it is of our making, not God’s. And so, for those sentiments, he lost everything and was brought up on charges of heresy. He paid a very high price for believing in love. Now, instead of preaching to 6,000, he occasionally preaches to a few hundred in places like All Souls Unitarian in Tulsa and City of Refuge UCC in Oakland. And he’s never been happier. His fascinating story has been made into a movie on Netflix called “Come Sunday.” I suggest you check it out. “Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.” Have you ever wondered whether God loves you? Perhaps it has never occurred to you to question it. Others of you might have that question this very minute. Some of you have in fact been told that God does not love you. And perhaps not only told but had it screamed in your face. I was one of those kids who didn’t understand the appeal of breaking the rules. I liked the affirmation of being recognized for doing the right thing. That doesn’t mean I always did. I felt especially terrible one day in high school when my pastor and his wife, who was my piano teacher, said to my parents in front of me that I was such a good kid. Who doesn’t want to hear that? But none of them knew I had been drunk the night before. Or that here I was, 15 years old, smoking pot with the cool kids to get them to like me. Or that all of my crushes were on the boys in my class, especially the ones smoking pot, not their girlfriends. Yet, although mixing pot and blackberry brandy may have been illegal for a 15 or 16 year old, and nauseating, it would only get me grounded and the punishing feeling of severe disappointment. Being gay was something completely different. I wouldn’t be grounded to my room but destined to eternal hell. I remember vividly the absolute crushing horror of reading in the Bible that I was an abomination, worthy of death, in the eyes of God. I remember the room I was in when I read those words and the brown shag carpeting on the floor onto which I fell, and the tears that flowed when I prayed, pleaded, that God take this away from me. I couldn’t stand the idea that I would displease God, but not out of a fear of punishment, but because I truly loved God. My life didn’t make sense. Some of you know what it feels like when you life doesn’t make sense. In my case, I knew I felt called to ministry. And slowly, but increasingly, I came to understand that God had also created me gay. It all felt like a cruel joke. I don’t know the struggles of gender identity, but I feel the pain of what can also feel like a cruel joke. To know you are one gender but to be in the body of a different gender. The summer of my sophomore year in college I came home late one night and read from one of those little devotional booklets before bed. I was sitting on brown shag carpet (apparently that was a popular flooring choice in the mid-80s); I was sitting on the floor of my little basement apartment off campus in Mitchell, South Dakota, when all of a sudden the words “God is love” weren’t milk and cookies before bed, something that felt good, but the most radical, earth-shattering words ever written, something which opened a door and set me free. God didn’t hate me. Church people might, but that’s their problem. My parents and pastor might be severely disappointed. But God loves me. That’s what really mattered. And let me add, my parents did affirm their love for me when I came out to them several years later, even if they didn’t fully understand. It’s because they knew the words of 1st John: “Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.” As the text goes on to say, there is no and there can be no fear in that love. Fear is about punishment. But God is not about punishment. God is about love. God is love. As Bishop Pearson said, “think of how twisted and destructive it is to preach the fear of hell as an incentive to love God.” Anyone who wants to punish, exclude, judge, or otherwise simply be a complete jerk, does not know God. To refuse to listen is to not know God. To refuse to even try to understand is to not know God. If you’ve never questioned God’s love, we’ve certainly all faced times of self-doubt. We wonder if we are worthy, especially worthy of love – for someone we are, or something we've done, or what someone has done to us. Our lunch and lectionary group on Thursday talked about love as a feeling developed in childhood that we continually build upon. Something that we can return to. Unless we were not loved. Abused or neglected as children. Then what? And together we grieved over the difficulties of breaking through that pattern. But, that it is possible. That’s the power of God’s love, often through just one person. One person who looked at us and saw our worth. Many times, it’s a grandparent. Or a teacher. A neighbor. Or the church. Some of our regular worshipers at my church in Cleveland came every Sunday with their Bible. Others came with their basketball – because after worship they could play in our gymnasium. We were an inner-city church on a busy street with all the struggles of addiction and poverty one imagines. As one example, the Head Start teachers had to check the playground every morning for needles and condoms. I was always grateful for the teenagers who came with their basketballs by themselves to worship. That was never the only reason they were there. If they wanted, they could do that on weeknights. They came on Sundays because someone would see them and talk with them and ask about their week while handing them a plate of whatever was being served at coffee hour. They felt so loved, some days they never even made it to the gym. That’s the other side of love. Not just a feeling we did or did not receive. Love is a flow that is built upon and embodied in actions, ones that are often so simple that no one would ever notice, except the person being listened to and looked in the eye for the first time. Or the first time in a long time. Or at just the right time before something drastic they might feel compelled to do. I told our lunch and lectionary group that this would be a difficult sermon to write because what else needs to be said after the very first line: “Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.” I never screamed that back into the faces of Christians who dared to contradict God. Yes, that's another story, stories, for another time. But if I had wanted to respond, I would have needed nothing more than the last line of today’s text. Imagine hearing someone yell: “Those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.” It’s just Christianity 101. Amen?
2 Comments
Pam Hennessey
5/4/2021 06:31:07 am
An inspiring and encouraging sermon, David. Thank you. So much to understand and experience about love. Maybe we should make our regathering theme A Year of Love. What a focus for our first year back together, and also a natural for resuming the relational campaign.Could a new exploration of and acting in love be the “new normal” we’ve been looking to find, the threshold we are called to cross?
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Patti Knapp
5/13/2021 06:49:50 am
I had missed this sermon but am so glad I went back to read it. We have certainly had similar experiences growing up, coming out (plus smoking pot although in college for me) and resolving the apparent disconnect between sexual orientation, god’s love and disheartening biblical passages. Your reflections on Archwood brought back fond memories during this time of many reflections for me. Thanks for the memories ❤️
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