Both/And

Midweek Worship

Wednesday After Holy Trinity

Reading I: Ruth 2:14-23.
Reading II: 1 Timothy 3:1-16.
Gospel: Luke 13:18-20.

Homily:

Lord, we pray for the preacher, for You know his sins are great.

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

I think that Christianity is having trouble breathing because we’ve all gone and dissected it. We’ve taken unions of concepts meant to hold together and split them asunder. Take, for example, the common modern Western quip, “I’m spiritual but not religious.” What do you suppose is meant by this? What is the difference between religion and spirituality, and just how have they become separated?

I find it fair to say in this context that religion has to do with community while spirituality has to do with the individual. Religion is what we do together; spirituality is how we live at home. And in a time and place of hyper-individuality, when communal organizations of all sorts appear to be withering on the vine, spirituality is far more popular. It can be personal; it can be à al carte; it can be on demand. And it makes no demands in return.

Of course, if our modern societal and cultural ills stem not from collectivization but from atomization—not from a lack of individuality but a glut of it—then spirituality of this sort might not suffice as the balm for what ails us. But even this is a false dichotomy. Religion and spirituality are not a question of either/or but of both/and: both a community of faith, and a personal faith. For much of Christian history this was taken quite naturally for granted. Each of us is Christ, and all of us are Christ.

I’m not quite sure just when or how the split occurred between the personal and the public. Protestants blame Catholics for making Christianity into arcane ritual, inaccessible and unintelligible to common folk with common faith. Catholics in turn blame Protestants for shifting the focus of faith from mysticism to moralism: that is, from a sacramental union with the living God in Christ, to simply another list of ethical behaviors.

And if the point of Christianity is just to be good—well, then, why not just be good without it?

However we got here, there seems to be a real disconnect between religion and spirituality: between the collective Body of Christ and the meaningful mysticism of everyday life. And that’s no good for anybody. If what we do on Sunday has no impact on the rest of the week, then religion is pointless and ultimately dispensable from our lives. But if we have no greater community or tradition beyond ourselves, then spirituality becomes narcissistic navel-gazing, easily exploited and commodified by the free market.

If you don’t believe me, just see what magically-charged quartz is going for on eBay.

Christianity is all about the wondrous mystery of union between humanity and divinity, the individual and the community, the religious and the spiritual, the mystical and the ethical. Faith has to be a way of life; it has to mean something to each of us. But it also has to be greater than ourselves. It has to wrestle with community, with the messiness of human beings, with the sinner sitting next to you in the pews.

We are gathered together in order to be sent out, and sent out in order to be gathered together again—sacred rhythm like the breath in our lungs, the blood in our veins.

You can come to Church each Sunday. You can sing the songs, and stand and sit, and even give a little money now and then. You can cry out, “Lord, Lord, we drank in your presence; you taught in our streets.” But if the forgiveness you receive here is not shared beyond these walls; if the Scriptures we read are not opened in your homes; if the command of the Lord is not obeyed to love as He loves us; then His answer to us will be: “I know not you nor whence you come.” And that’s not a threat. It’s simply the truth.

Likewise one who sits in silence, who knows no community beyond a screen, who picks and chooses gods and idols that only serve to reflect the ego within, who knows no god beyond themselves—such a one will weep and gnash their teeth. Not because God is jealous or cruel, in the sense that we know jealousy, but simply because truth must be given as a gift, and that gift comes to us through others, through community, through a life beyond ourselves.

If you don’t wrestle with the Bible, pray in your home, think about God in the night—then what are you even doing here? What could Church possibly mean for you? And if you do all those things, and know the Spirit of God within—think how much more grace must abound when we share God’s gifts together. The purpose of a little leaven is to raise the whole batch of the dough.

Here Christ pours out His Blood and water, His Body and His Spirit, into us, forgiving us, resurrecting us, and sending us out—to be Him for the world in its need!

It has to be both. We must be both: both spiritual and religious. We must love one another, even when it’s very hard, because it’s very hard; we must have humility to receive salvation as a body, as a people, and not just on our own. At the same time, we must each be “little Christs” for our neighbor, images of the Image of God. Religion only works if we are all spiritual. Spirituality only works if we are each religious. Thus we know God, beyond us, around us, within us.

And thus we know salvation, in this world and the next.

In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.