Join us as we unveil Boone's new mission statement...
Over the past three weeks, we’ve covered a lot of important ground in Boone’s new Mission Statement: we discussed who we ARE (a safe space for all), what we BELIEVE (Christ commands us to love), and what we DO (create change through worship, learning, and service). All of these are the sorts of things that define us as a community; they’re the sorts of things that someone looking for a new church home might be curious about. But as informative as all this is, it’s also important for us to recognize the goals that we AREN’T quite achieving yet, to name the aspirational aspects of our mission. And so, the last part of the ABCs of Boone outlines what we, as a community, DREAM of being and doing.
Join us as we unveil Boone's new mission statement...
TO BE CONTINUED...
So far in our mission statement, we’ve talked about what we ARE and what we BELIEVE as a community. But a good mission statement has to be about more than that; it also has to describe what we DO. As a church, we obviously DO all the normal churchy things – worship, Christian Education, and service projects – but it’s important for us to remember that while these activities are pretty universal within Christian communities, they aren’t actually defining characteristics in and of themselves of the Church at large. We don’t do them for their own sake – we have a larger goal, in which these activities are more properly used as a means to an end.
Join us as we unveil Boone's new mission statement...
TO BE CONTINUED...
This week, we’re beginning a sermon series in which we unveil our brand-new mission statement. Our old mission statement was wonderful, but churches should revise their mission statement at least every five years – we are, after all, a Church “reformed and always reforming”. So much has changed for us even just since COVID that it’s time for us to reimagine how we present ourselves to the world. So, after much discussion, deliberation, and discernment, Session voted to adopt this new statement, which I’ve lovingly nicknamed “the ABCs of Boone”.
The first part of the mission statement, the “A” that we’ll talk about today, is about who we ARE. As Session began working to articulate how this community has evolved since the split, calling a new pastor, and dealing with COVID, one obvious theme kept coming up again and again: “We are a safe space for all: where you can be exactly who God created you to be – Presbyterian or not!” This goes beyond our welcome of our LGBT+ siblings (although that’s certainly an important part of it). Boone is a place where you’re safe to be open about your mental health struggles, to share your doubts about God, to disagree with the pastor - even to confess that you don’t consider yourself Presbyterian! (You can decide for yourself which of those things is the most “scandalous”.) To be clear, this doesn’t mean that everyone will feel like they BELONG here (like those, for example, who were unwilling to wear a mask during COVID) but THEY will always be the ones to decide that, not us, and until then, we try to make sure that they feel SAFE in our midst.
This is a guiding principle for Boone because it’s a guiding principle of scripture. There are plenty of passages I could have chosen to illustrate this – the woman accused of adultery, for example, or Psalm 23, or the prodigal son – but I chose this passage from Isaiah. I chose it, because it reminds us why we, the Church, exist. Not just to be kind or merciful or charitable in isolated moments, but to bring about the very kindom of God here and now and always. And Isaiah 11 insists that that kindom is not one of conformity and dominion, but of peace and safety, where no harm or destruction occurs anywhere that belongs to God. Safety for all creation is the primary characteristic of God’s kindom, and so safety is one of the values that we cherish most deeply here in this community - whether physical, emotional, or spiritual in nature.
Notice what this passage DOESN’T say. It doesn’t say that the goat will no longer be a goat, and the lion will no longer be a lion. It doesn’t say that they’ll be converted into something that they weren’t before. Too frequently, modern Christians have become gatekeepers, more concerned with enforcing their rules and changing others to fit their mold. But in God’s kindom, the goat doesn’t need to match the leopard’s ferocity; the lion doesn’t need to turn INTO an ox in order to eat straw like an ox. The only things that change are the behaviors that keep them from living together in harmony. THIS is the reflection of the kindom that we want to be – a place where all can coexist in their differences in peace. Where all are safe to be THEMSELVES.
Now, of course, safety isn’t something that just happens, and it isn’t something that can just be assumed. Vulnerable people will never feel safe until a space is PROVEN to be safe. No lamb will lie down with a wolf until the wolf has convincingly demonstrated that it’s not a threat (and as little Red Riding Hood can tell you, a wolf’s words alone aren’t good enough). To a certain extent, then, our claim of being a safe space for all is more of an aspirational commitment than a perfect descriptor. We will always have to work to prove that we are what we say we are.
Fortunately, Scripture has us covered on that front, too – although we might have to read this passage through a new lens to realize it. We most often encounter Isaiah 11 at Christmas because Christians have historically read it as a “prediction” or prophesy of Jesus’ birth: Jesus, the root of Jesse, will come to live among us, he’ll fix everything, and then everyone will get along perfectly. If you happen to look around and notice that herbivores and carnivores still aren’t mingling socially even though Jesus HAS come, well, then that just means that this passage must be referring to the RETURN of Christ. Zootopia is just waiting for the SECOND coming.
But what if, rather than placing all our hope for God’s kindom on some unknown date in the future, on an event completely outside of our control, we instead read verses 1-5 as being about each of US? What if WE are the shoot of Jesse, WE are the branch sprouting from his roots. If we read the passage in this way, then it means that our efforts to be guided by God’s spirit – a spirit of wisdom and understanding, of counsel and strength, of knowledge and reverence – will be the thing that leads directly to this kindom of peace. If we decide not to judge by appearances nor to decide by hearsay, then WE can create the holy mountain where none will be harmed or destroyed. What if it’s up to US?
My kindred in Christ, I’m telling you that it IS up to us. This is what we have to be in order to live out the mission that we’ve claimed. We have to actively pursue these things to create a world in which wolves can lie down with lambs and all of God’s beloved children are safe – and KNOW they’re safe – from any sort of harm. And if we are truly committed to living as ones who will bring about the kindom, as our new mission statement suggests, then we need to cultivate a sense of safety not just in the space we inhabit on Sunday mornings, but in our whole lives. WE need to be safe spaces ourselves, so that the kindom described in Isaiah 11 can spread beyond our self-contained islands of sanctuary into our streets, our grocery stores, our nightclubs, and our schools.
There is still a tragically long road standing between us and this peaceable kindom. The world remains an unsafe place for far too many people in far too many ways. I didn’t set out to discuss anything controversial in this sermon, but this past Wednesday, there was yet another terrible incidence of gun violence at a school, where four people died and nine others were injured. Of all people in all possible places, children should be able to feel safe at school. And yet, that’s not the world that we’ve created for them; that’s not the kingdom we’ve made for ourselves.
Many people have responded to this tragedy by saying, “It could have been worse.” And it could have. The staff were almost immediately able to alert security thanks to special new high-tech IDs, which undoubtedly saved lives. The classroom doors at Apalachee High School automatically locked, significantly restricting the shooter’s movements. And school resource officers responded quickly and heroically.[1] But this is not safety. How many of that school’s students do you think will feel safe when they return to school next week? How many more security systems, how many more locked doors, how many more officers will it take? This should not be a fact of life. This is not what the kindom of God looks like.
Our nation is not willing to make the same commitment to collective safety that Isaiah 11 demands. Which is, of course, its right – we are NOT, after all, a Judeo-Christian nation, nor should we seek to be. But if those of us here today take seriously our desire to be a safe space for everyone, if we really believe in the inevitability of God’s kindom, if we really, truly consider Scripture to be an authority on our lives, then we cannot let this stand. We cannot let our nation’s priorities go unquestioned. Because we, the Church, exist not just to be kind or merciful or charitable in isolated moments, but to bring about the very kindom of God, a kindom of peace and safety for all, here and now and always.
It's relatively easy to PROCLAIM ourselves a safe space for everyone – especially when our idea of safety only extends as far as “no harassment” or “no judgement”. These are important aspects of it, but they only scratch the surface. Existing as a truly safe space for others is not, and will never be, easy. It requires profound strength – which is the last thing that the Isaiah passage has to teach us.
Just before the depiction of the Peaceable Kingdom begins in verse 6, Isaiah describes one last quality of the one who can bring it about: “Righteousness will be the belt around [their] hips, and faithfulness the belt around [their] waist.” But this isn’t a belt as we might picture it. The Hebrew word, *aizor*, is more accurately described as a “waist cloth” or a “girdle”. In biblical times, it was used to tie up one’s robes in preparation for a feat requiring great strength and exertion, whether at work or in battle[2] (this is, of course, where the term “gird your loins” comes from).
When Isaiah tells us that the root of Jesse wears an *aizor*, he’s making it clear that this figure has a difficult task ahead. But the strength that THIS task requires isn’t the strength of power or dominance as an *aizor* would normally suggest. It is the strength righteousness and faithfulness that will ultimately lead to God’s kindom. It’s the strength of being of one mind with God that will create a safe place for all.
So, friends, as we commit to being a place of safety – a glimpse of the peaceable kingdom for all – let us gird our hearts with an *aizor* of righteousness and one of faithfulness, for the road we face is long and difficult. Our mission doesn’t stop at the door of this building; we must carry this sense of sanctuary out with us into the world. We must keep working to make Caldwell a safe space for all, and then Idaho, and then the Mountain West, and onward and outward and upward until there’s not a single person left who would find it unusual for a calf and young lion to share a meal together. Until there’s not a single person left who feels unsafe anywhere in God’s whole creation.
This is an enormous task – one that righteousness and faithfulness may not feel sufficient to meet, even when supplemented with a spirit of wisdom and strength and knowledge. But it’s the task that our faith calls us to, the one that we’ve been unable to abandon even during the most challenging chapters in this community’s life. It is, after all, who we are. And God willing, for the sake of those who have gone before us and of those who will come after, it is who we always will be. Thanks be to God for this clarity of mission: may we rise to meet the challenge. Amen.
Well, we’ve been working our way through the book of Daniel over the past month, and today we finally arrive at the last chapter. Since Deanna preached for me last week, I’ve actually had two weeks to sit with this passage, reflecting on everything else that’s come before it and how it all fits together. I’ve reread my sermons, listened to Deanna’s, and carefully studied the chapters that we skipped over. And now, thanks to all that, I can confidently tell you that I’ve got nothing.
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