The 1979 Pittsburgh Pirates
There were pitchers like Kent Teckulve, with his dazzling knuckler and goofy glasses and Dock Ellis, who pitched a no-hitter on LSD. They had a formidable offense with hitters like 'Mad Dog' Bill Madlock and Dave 'The Cobra' Parker. And they were led by a fun-loving, power-hitting first-baseman named Willie Stargell, whom everyone called Pops. The team was a close-knit bunch, so much so that the theme song for the team that year was We Are Fam-i-ly by Sister Sledge. That song didn't just refer to the players but to everyone who called Pittsburgh home. What made them a family was not blood or kinship. Instead, what made them a family was their common experience, the common experience of love for the game, the city, and the team. That common experience inspired them in their common goal, which was winning the World Series, which they did over the Baltimore Orioles. That team, those fans, they were beautiful example of what a family could be.
Pops Stargell on a t-shirt from the 1979 season.
Family. What makes a family? Certainly it isn't blood. The Pirates taught us that. And today, we see Jesus give us a new definition for family. We find him early on in his ministry, having just called his 12 apostles and dozens (if not hundreds) of others as disciples, as followers. Now all of them are gathered with Jesus around a table for a meal. Meanwhile, Jesus' own mother and brothers and sisters stand outside and try to get in, possibly to share in the meal and meet Jesus' new friends.
This, however, is when Jesus does something highly unorthodox: he doesn't acknowledge his blood family. Instead, he motions to the table. "Here," he says, "are my mother and my brother and my sisters." Who were those folks sitting at that table? Maybe he was referring to the apostles, those uber-pious men who have stained glasses painted for them and are revered as saints. But if we really think about the folks Jesus hung out with, we can see a different group sitting at that table. Prostitutes sat there. So did public drunks. Cripples. Foreigners. These are folks that Jesus' own people would have surely said had no place at the table, and yet these are the folks Jesus welcomes, the folks that he calls his family.
Here we see the radical nature of Jesus' ministry and how he turns the world on its head. By the societal norms of his time none of these folks should've been allowed at the table with him. They were unclean, sinners. Jesus, though, flies in the face of his own societal norms and not only welcomes them but calls them family. Because what makes a family, Jesus says, is the common experience of love. And whoever loves God, according to Jesus, has a place at his table and a place in his family.
Practically every church community considered itself a family. Well, I'm going to clue you in to a little inside information. Every single one of these families, when it comes time to call a new rector, says the same thing: we want to grow. We want our family to grow, they say. And that's a good thing. More people means more energy, more hands and feet to do the work God has called us to. More people means that the communities, the families, we love will endure. Yet more often than not, what those church families mean when they say "We want to grow" is this: we want folks who are like us. We want folks who look like us, act like us, vote like us, have similar paychecks to us. So when the time comes to call another rector, those communities look around and wonder, "Why didn't we grow?"
I'll clue you in to another piece of inside information. All of those church families can grow. They can if they are willing to let their table look like Jesus' table. If they can look past the labels that we all place on one another, then they'll definitely grow.
There are people out there who so desperately long to hear that Jesus loves them, and they long to be invited to his table and be fed by him. They are all around us, and if you and your church family can look past the labels we put on one another and the barriers we erect between us, then your church family will grow. And it will thrive. Because it will look like Jesus' family.
I call the folks in my church my brothers and sisters because that is what they are. But it's not because of blood. I'm not related to anyone. I'm not from here originally. And while I am souther, my accent doesn't sound exactly like theirs--it has more of a mountain twang to it. What makes us brothers and sisters is our common experience of love for God in Jesus Christ and our worship of him as our Lord and Savior. And that common experience empowers us to achieve our common goal--just like those Pirates in '79 who had a common goal of winning the World Series. Our common goal is to go into the world and share that love, so that we may make disciples of Jesus Christ and may grow his family.
The love of Jesus peels away the labels and crumbles the barriers. It did so then and does so still. All of the labels we have for one another (male, female, gay, straight, black, white, rich, poor, liberal, conservative) are all gone now. Because at the Table of the Lord, where Jesus is both the host and the food, we are fam-i-ly.
A modern icon of Holy Communion, showing Jesus' radical hospitality. (Source: Unknown)
In the Episcopal Church we believe that whenever we share in Holy Communion we are doing so with every person we love but see no longer. That's because Communion is happening all the time in heaven. Sometimes we hear how nice it would be if our table could look like that table, where every person has a place. But we need not gaze longingly at heaven and hope for the day when our table looks like that one because we have the capacity to make it happen right now! All it takes is reaching out to our brothers and sisters on the margins. Reach out to your homeless brother. Reach out to your gay sister. To your transgender brother. To your sister who is struggling with substance abuse. To your brother on food stamps. Reach out to your family who have been pushed to the fringes and welcome them home to the table and to their family.
So come to this table. You who have much faith, you would like to have some more, and you who have none at all. You who have been often, and you who have not been for a long time, and you who who have never been at all. You who have tried to follow Jesus, and you who have succeeded, and you who have failed. Come. It is Christ Himself who invites us to meet him here and makes us a family. We'll save a seat at the table for you.
Amen. And interesting table conversation!
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