Ophelia Hu Kinney

This is our third week of Composting Christianity, a series where we trade in a version of Christianity that doesn’t work – that we may have been taught or handed down – in exchange for a Gospel that gives life.

Last week, we got to worship around the table, discussing the kin-dom of God here and now rather than as an abstraction in the sky. 

The week before that, Sara preached about how Jesus prioritized the seemingly least valuable people in his society, including children. In a time and place where children were viewed as property, and not very valuable property for that matter, that was totally countercultural.

Today, I want to talk about the God who opens the gates. I’m composting the idea of a God who’s a gatekeeper. And I’d like to bring out of the compost the rich and life-giving notion of a God who not only has the keys but who takes the gates off the hinges altogether.

What I mean, to be clear, is that I’m discarding the idea that God’s love is only for some of us. What I’m resurrecting from the compost pile is the fundamental truth that God’s love is for everyone.

Gatekeepers

A gatekeeper is someone who controls access. They decide who gets to be “in” and who has to stay “out.” And too often, Christianity gets billed as a religious system where some people are “in” and some people are “out.” Between book bans and protests at funerals, punitive legislation and bumper stickers condemning people to hell, Christianity can sometimes seem like an exclusive club… and not a very fun one at that.

But time and again, Jesus showed that he had a very different mission. I want to share a snippet of his early ministry to illustrate that in detail.

Luke 5:2-11 CEB

Jesus saw two boats sitting by the lake. The fishermen had gone ashore and were washing their nets. Jesus boarded one of the boats, the one that belonged to Simon, then asked him to row out a little distance from the shore. Jesus sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. When he finished speaking to the crowds, he said to Simon, “Row out farther, into the deep water, and drop your nets for a catch.”

Simon replied, “Master, we’ve worked hard all night and caught nothing. But because you say so, I’ll drop the nets.”

So they dropped the nets and their catch was so huge that their nets were splitting. They signaled for their partners in the other boat to come and help them. They filled both boats so full that they were about to sink. When Simon Peter saw the catch, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, “Leave me, Lord, for I’m a sinner!” Peter and those with him were overcome with amazement because of the number of fish they caught. James and John, Zebedee’s sons, were Simon’s partners and they were amazed too.

Jesus said to Simon, “Don’t be afraid. From now on, you will be fishing for people.” As soon as they brought the boats to the shore, they left everything and followed Jesus.

Jesus was a recruiter, constantly challenging the religious status quo of who’s in and who’s out. During his lifetime, he told a parable about a Samaritan man acting more holy than his “chosen people” counterparts. He included women and people of diverse backgrounds in his closest circle of co-conspirators. He dined at the home of a much-detested tax collector. He let himself be schooled by a Syrophoenician woman who said that, like dogs at their master’s table, gentiles should have access to God just like the Israelites did. He brought people into healing and sewed them back together into their communities. 

Even the temple of Jerusalem, the center of religious and social life, was inaccessible to some people depending on their background, education, or demographics. When Jesus told the Jewish authorities that he intended to rebuild the destroyed temple in only three days, he threatened an order that worked to gatekeep access to the divine. He had a different idea altogether about who gets access to God’s love and recognition.

Communion

You may have noticed that we do communion here a little differently from a lot of United Methodist or other mainline churches. Oftentimes here, communion is presided over by someone who isn’t ordained, otherwise known as a layperson. In a lot of Christian traditions, the person who presides over communion needs to be ordained in that tradition, or else the church could get in trouble.

But in the last few years, we’ve been asking why we do what we do during worship. And communion is one of those things we wanted to examine. What makes a person qualified to invoke this holy and common ritual? Who knows what really goes on in this world of spirit and matter when we partake in this meal together?

Franciscan priest and public theologian Father Richard Rohr says this about communion:

“When Jesus spoke the words “This is my Body,” I believe he was speaking not just about the bread right in front of him, but about the whole universe, about every thing that is physical, material, and yet also spirit-filled.

Seeing the Eucharist as a miracle is not really the message at all. I can see why we celebrate it so often. This message is such a shock to the psyche, such a challenge to our pride and individualism, that it takes a lifetime of practice and much vulnerability for it to sink in—as the pattern of every thing, and not just this thing.

The bread and wine are largely understood as an exclusive presence, when in fact their full function is to communicate a truly inclusive—and always shocking—presence.

The Eucharist is an encounter of the heart when we recognize Presence through our own offered presence. In the Eucharist, we move beyond mere words or rational thought and go to that place where we don’t talk about the Mystery anymore; we begin to chew on it. Jesus did not say, “Think about this” or “Stare at this” or even “Worship this.” Instead he said, “Eat this!””

Does an adult or an ordained person understand better than a child what it means that we consume the body and blood of Christ? Does a clergy person know more than a layperson about the kind of love Jesus had for his friends? 

In some Christian traditions, men are welcome to preside over this table, but not women. And yet, Jesus was first revealed after his resurrection to his dear friend and disciple Mary Magdalene. In many Christian traditions, cisgender, heterosexual people are welcome to preside over this table, but not queer or trans people. And yet, there’s nothing documented that Jesus said about LGBTQ+ people, even while they’re plentiful in the Bible. 

And so I hope when we receive the elements here at HopeGateWay, it can be a regular reminder that God is not a gatekeeper. Sara spoke two weeks ago about how Jesus prioritized children in the kindom of God. And we tend to think, “Oh, how cute! The kids!” But I’ll repeat that in Jesus’ context, that meant centering those who had no economic value, no voice, no power at all. At HGW, children and laypeople often co-create the table, not because our kids are cute, though they are, but because they are eager to be recruited into our community and into this ritual.

God does not make requirements for participation in God’s family. Rather, God tears down the gates that we have made. We are not separated by belief or tradition or creed. We don’t gain access by knowing the secret password of faith. Instead, God’s love precedes our beliefs and actions. God’s love goes before us. And we’re invited to participate in God’s mission of love expanding.

No One is Disposable

Last week we talked at tables about what the kindom of God is like. With kindom being different from kingdom, because it’s about kinship and community, rather than dominion. At my table we talked about how, in the kindom of God, there’s dissent but also respect. We said that the kindom of God is here when we include and affirm people of all backgrounds and all perspectives. When we don’t create a false peace. When we build unity without uniformity. When we provide for each other. 

And as Allen said, and these words have stuck with me all week: the kindom of God is where no one is disposable. 

Relinquishing Control

Being a gatekeeper is an easy way to exercise control. A god who gatekeeps is a god who decides what the kindom of God can look like. Who’s in, who’s out. How easy it is to work together with people who think like you do. How uncomplicated it feels to be among people who are all just like you… 

But a god who recruits relinquishes control. And as anyone knows who’s worked with a team before, or who’s loved small children: relinquishing control can be scary. Because the outcome is ours to co-create with God. But the payoff is tremendous, because by recruiting us, instead of gatekeeping, God recovers us from isolation.

The ministry of Jesus is like a heist. In his work of healing and listening and communing and revolutionizing, he rescues us from separation. He steals us from despair. He underscores that none of us are disposable.

So, what do we do as co-conspirators in the heist? What are we willing to throw overboard – which tenets of order or exclusion we’ve grown up with or that have cemented in our hearts over time? What ensnaring nets are we willing to cast aside to join Jesus in that work of healing and listening and communing and revolutionizing? 

Are we willing to throw overboard our biases about who God loves more or less? Are we willing to throw overboard the beliefs that have gotten us this far but that don’t serve us anymore? 

“Don’t be afraid,” Jesus assures us. Ours is not a gatekeeper god but a recruiter god. A recruiter for the mission of love and reconciliation. “From now on, we will be fishing for people.”