Community Ministry: 3 Questions Inspired by Luthuli

Albert John Luthuli, a black native South African, was a deeply committed Christian man. He was, in fact, the child of Seventh-Day Adventist missionaries but was eventually confirmed and commissioned as a lay preacher. And it was in this context, with a focus on evangelism, that Luthuli came face to face with this truth: If he was going to minister the gospel to the people of his communities, he had to care about their circumstances as much as their souls. And out of that, he became an extraordinary witness, struggling against apartheid in South Africa, for which he eventually won the Nobel Peace Prize.

What’s Parish Ministry?
I wanted to hold up Luthuli because, while it’s deep within our tradition to care about people’s circumstances, for some reason, parts of our church have entered into what I can only describe as the spirit of quietism, where the default mode becomes pastoral care to the people who show up. But that’s really not who we are in terms of our tradition, which is why we give thanks for people like Albert John Luthuli.

Parish ministry means, in our classical understanding, that God has planted our church in the context of a community where we are called to be salt and light. To minister to our parish means we minister to the people who come to our church and use that, in a sense, as an organizing springboard to minister into the larger community. Because it is the community that is our geographic parish, not just our parishioners. And to minister to parishioners only and not think about our calling by God (in other words, why God planted us here and what he wants to do about what’s going on in our community) in essence consigns us to a truncated gospel.

That’s why I got involved, as I did, in the aftermath of the shootings at the Pulse nightclub. That’s why I got involved in the shooting of Trayvon Martin down in Sanford. Because that’s my parish as bishop: fifteen counties and eighty-six congregations. And if something happens in a way that has a significant impact on the community as a whole, I call the local rector. Which is exactly what I did in the Trayvon Martin shooting when I called the Rector at Holy Cross, Sanford, and said, “Tell me what’s going on down there.”

The same thing happened with the Pulse tragedy. I quickly connected with Reggie Kidd, the Dean of the Cathedral of St. Luke, and within a matter of hours, things began to happen. A statement was issued, and ministry took off.

I see that kind of activity, quite frankly, as very appropriate to gospel ministry. Because God loves the world just as much as he loves the Christians who show up in a local church on a Sunday morning.

And not only that, but we are meant to be witnesses to the vibrancy of the Christian life in a way that heals the divisions that so deeply challenge our community. That’s the message of the book of Ephesians, where the writer so eloquently explains what has God done in Christ Jesus: “For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross” (Eph. 2:14-16a).

Can We Talk?
You can’t get more explicit than that. Within the context of the church, we’re learning how to work out our differences around things like race, generational divisions, and economic differences. We are meant to be able to wrestle with those things within the context of the church because we’re sisters and brothers in Jesus, which means there’s more that unites us than divides us.

And that gives us the playing field to be able to have those conversations and to model something new and different in terms of relationships, that we might be the city on the hill, the salt of the earth, to which he has called us. We are to demonstrate that in a kind of sacrificial servanthood: “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13:14). And to demonstrate that in significant ways, ways that cause the world to take notice.

That’s really the invitation, as well as the witness of Luthuli’s life. And it isn’t as if we don’t have things in our community with which to wrestle. Just look around. Whether we’re talking about the hook-up culture that’s so much a part of our retirement communities; the fact that we’re one of the hotbeds for cocaine sales, again, among mostly well-to-do retirees; or the drug culture in the surfing communities on the coast. Or whether we’re talking about the continual racism that we continue to wrestle with, even down into our hiring policies, where, as I heard briefly, “No, we’re not going to hire this particular person because he doesn’t fit the culture of our community.”

All of these discussions are meant to begin within the conversation of sisters and brothers, to say, “We have already, because of what God has given us in Christ Jesus, a foundation of mercy, of forgiveness, of generosity and kindness. Because that’s what we have received in Jesus, and that’s what we’re learning to live out with one another.”

This foundation allows us to begin to wrestle with some of these things as a part of our gospel initiative. Unless we really are meant to be a kind of pious quietists who say that God cares about the soul and not much else. But again, that is actually a profound betrayal of our tradition. It’s not who we are. And, more than that, it’s not what the scripture teaches. Not at all.

How Can I Help?
I do get questions like “Why did you do that?” about some of the things I find myself involved in. But my involvement has everything to do with my understanding about the role of the Christian in the world.

We Christians have a kind of inner confidence, you see. We have the promise of eternal life. Our sins have been forgiven, and with that comes a profound freedom that allows us to enter into places of difficulty with a level of poise, courage, and security that we should use in a way that serves the world. Because that is, in fact, who Jesus was in the world. And who he has called us to be as his body in the world.

If I’m still thinking about how Jesus can take care of me, I’m still in the playpen. But if I begin to understand that he is in fact taking care of me, and that therefore my job is to go and care, then I’m out of the playpen, and I’m beginning to display some marks of Christian maturity. Because that’s my understanding of Christian maturity: a switch of focus from my neediness to my service.

Yes, I’m always needy, but the good news is that God promises to take care of my needs, so I’m free to serve. Anything else is a trap of worry and fear that really does look like the bars of a playpen.

So in giving thanks for people like Albert John Luthuli, we must ask ourselves, “OK God, where in my community, or my parish, do you want me to make a difference? How can I help? Give me eyes to see.”

And I promise you—he will.

Where in your community does God want you to make a difference? Share this blog and your comments on Twitter. Please include my username, @revgregbrewer.

(This post is an adaption of Bishop Brewer’s sermon on July 21, 2016, in the Bishop’s Oratory of the Diocesan Office, Orlando.)

Unless otherwise noted, scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.